The Jericho Impasse
by Time Tripper
Summary: A lost tale, written in the early part of the new millennium, featuring the New Teen Titans, together again for their first time in more than a decade. This story takes place after the Technis Imperative, just after Beast Boy returned to the west coast and the Titans took on some new members.
1. Prologue

As dawn began to break along the shore, the young woman strode slowly, calmly in parallel to the orange-splashed horizon, icy salt water caressing her bare feet. The sounds of this amazing place consumed her soul, commanding a freedom of being that had eluded her for so long. She wasn't sure exactly where she was headed; she only knew she felt safe.

Beneath a pale purple silken cloak, her hair was a rainbow of auburn and flaxen gold cascading over her slender shoulders and catching flight in the early morning breeze. She brushed the hair aside and stopped for a moment, inhaling deeply, seeming to want this moment to exist for an eternity.

Memories, jumbled and confused, had flooded her head for so long now that she had trouble remembering where they ended and where she began, but at this moment she knew who she was and from where she came. Feelings of pride, guilt, foolhardiness, and doubt no longer tormented her; she had no regrets.

She looked at the sun as it emerged, godlike, from the east, and she challenged it to keep her from being strong, for she finally knew she would win that particular challenge. Eyes frozen on the sunrise, she stretched out her arms and cupped her palms. Wisps of air gathered around her fingers, delighting her wrists to the touch, as, from within her physical essence, a tiny crystal danced and spun, growing ever larger, above each palm. Each caught the day's early light in its prism and reflected a majestic light show of color. In the light, she saw the faces of those she loved, the ones who loved her.

Joey, soulful and dear, with eyes wide and bright. Donna, glorious in her subtle, natural beauty. Dick, in whom she found a sense of confidence and valor. Garfield, alive with laughter and promise. Victor, strong and protective, a brother in whom she felt trust. And Koriand'r, regal and innocent, brimming with love and life.

The girl clasped both newly spun gemstones, brought them to her lips and kissed them as they miraculously became one; the amalgam gem found a home in the pocket of her cloak. _I'm coming home_ , she whispered. The girl took a last glance at the splendor of the daybreak, closed her eyes and summoned a crystal gate. Before her, sand kicked up in a warm frenzy, wind caressed her wrists again, and a split in the air, garnered by slick crystalline threads, began to open. She was opening a portal to a place she once knew, and she was finally ready to step through that crystalline gate and head home.


	2. A Welcome Stranger, Part One

The aroma of French Roast coffee awoke Donna Troy from a sleep so restful, she mused the thought that she had been under the thrall of Doctor Psycho. It was sleep well deserved, and, these days, much sought after. She sat up, arched her back, and stood with a powerful stretch, bending to touch her toes and elongate her spine. She slowly rotated her neck first clockwise, then the counter, all the while with eyes closed and breath calculated. _Mmmmmm_ , she thought, I _must have some of that coffee_. Gently rising erect, Donna slid her feet into a pair of fluffy pink slippers, reached for her satin robe, and began toward the kitchen.

The Tower had recently been destroyed; well most of it, anyway. Some of the living quarters, however, remained wholly intact, all except for Roy's and Dick's. Roy had been camping out on the sofa in the common area, and Dick, whose main residence was in Blüdhaven, really only used his Titans' quarters as a place to visit on rare occasions. Donna felt both sympathy and irony for Roy; it was only a week since she'd asked him to stop sleeping in her room and head back to his own bed before their headquarters went up in a fireball.

As she made her way to the kitchen, following the aromatic trail of brewing morning delight, she passed the common room and there lay Roy, sprawled on the sofa. She stopped for a bit to steal a look at Roy Harper, her friend who had, on more occasions than once, stolen her heart with his smile and charisma. He wasn't wearing very much, save for a flimsy pair of cotton boxer briefs and his tribal tattoo; the sight made Donna's stomach flutter for a moment. She even felt a warm blush come over her cheeks.

"Voyeurism like that is considered a crime in some places," said Jesse Chambers appearing out of thin air, causing Donna to gasp and blush ever more rapidly. Jesse continued, "So, he still does it for you, eh?"

"Jesse," Donna said, exasperated, "I know you're all super-fast, but would you mind not sneaking up on me like that? It could get you hurt." Donna, hands at her hips, poised herself for a confrontation, but chose to leave it at a glare. She stormed past Jesse, back en route to that much needed cup of java.

"Dude, _you_ need to lighten up," replied Jesse, known to the public and her crime fighting friends as Jesse Quick for her incredible super speed. She continued, "I was just trying to make a joke, you know, like how friends are supposed to?"

Donna stopped. It bothered her that she was so easily affected by Jesse's attempts at play, despite the tactics therein. "Jess, listen," she said as she turned, only to find Jesse Quick long gone, nothing left behind but a cool bluster of air. "Damn," muttered Donna.

She made her way to the kitchen, half-expecting to find Jesse there and sipping from a Titans mug, but found only Garfield Logan, her younger green-skinned, greener-haired teammate. " _Wondy_!" he exclaimed as, in a flash of light, he was suddenly an emerald sparrow headed to perch on her shoulder. "Good morning to the hottest Titan around!"

Donna chuckled, glancing peripherally at the green bird on her shoulder. "Gar, what are you doing in New York?"

Sparrow-Gar flapped his small wings and, in midair, changed form to a wolf, landing front paws first on the countertop. "What? No warm welcome?" Gar taunted, "No real close hugs?"

Donna reached for a mug from the drain board, and wolf-Gar trotted next to her, claws tapping lightly on the Formica. "Get down from here, I don't need you shedding in my coffee!" Donna said, grinning as she shooed the Beast Boy.

As he leapt off the countertop, he switched into human form and Donna noticed, for the first time, Gar was beginning to grow up. There was something new, different about his nose, his eyes, the way his posture gave him an odd yet welcome gallantness. His shoulders were broader and his chest more protrusive. It was noticeable that his teens were over. Gar grimaced curiously, one eyebrow lifted, chin wrinkled, and said, "Donna? Whataya lookin' at me like that for? Haven't ya ever seen a green-skinned Adonis before?"

That was one of Gar's most endearing, and sometimes most obnoxious, character traits: his consistent ability to make light of any situation. Donna shook her head and sat at the dinette in the center of the room. "Forgive me for gawking, _Adonis_ ," she retorted sardonically.

Before she could say another word, Gar Logan shifted form into a poodle, standard sized, garnished by pom-poms for tail and ears. Donna sipped her coffee, savoring the taste she'd sought since awakening. "So," she began, "seriously, what _are_ you doing here? I haven't seen you since you moved to San Fran. Is everything okay?"

Poodle-Gar sat on his haunches and patted at Donna's thigh with his left paw. He said, "No, everything's good in the hood, Wondy." Mysteriously, Gar Logan was able to speak in each of his animal forms, though a noticeable impediment usually accompanied each varying voice. This voice was small and comforting. He continued, "I just had, you know, an _urge_ to stop by and see you guys. Call it nostalgia, I dunno."

The two Titans sat for another twenty minutes, Beast Boy shifting shapes sporadically from lizard to chicken to kangaroo, and neither of them missed a step in conversation. They shared a sense of home that seemed, at least to Donna, suddenly so very necessary. During the dialogue, a disheveled Roy Harper meandered in for his eye-opening java - black, lots of sugar. He seemed to not notice his friends as he freely reached into his boxers and scratched, coughing and cracking his neck all in the same motion. Roy's indecency was fodder for laughter between Donna and Gar, and before they knew it, he was ambling back out of the kitchen.


	3. A Welcome Stranger, Part Two

Titans' Island wasn't really an island, per se. True, it was a land mass fully surrounded by water: the East River, to be precise. But the mass of land was small, maybe an acre and a half, most of which was overgrown flora, with some battered trees thrown into the mix. There was evidence of violent damage to most of the greenery, due mostly in part to bearing the brunt of steady attacks on this landmass, home of the Titans' base of operations. Where once stood a proud, sleek tower constructed of Promethium steel and girders now lived a gaping break in the ground, protected from the outside by an undetectable force field of alien technology. Beneath the gap in the ground was what remained of Titans' Tower.

A few yards off to the east, a rip in the fabric of space began to form, bearing tiny crystalline shards on the edges. The tear opened in a wide oval, and through the portal stepped the young ginger-haired girl in the purple cloak. Her bare feet stepped onto the cool sand of the shore, sounding off a melodic chime from the crystals on her anklets. She removed her hood and breathed in deeply. The subtle wind rustled her hair and caressed her face as she looked west at the Manhattan skyline, a sight that reminded her of Joey, her first true love. Unbeknownst to the girl, an alarm had set off a few meters beneath her feet, alerting the Titans of an intruder on their island.

She strode along a footpath, expecting to see the towering structure that sheltered her so long ago, and gasped with eyes wide to see the rupture in the ground where the headquarters once stood. She dropped to her knees and blinked in hopes of it only being a mirage. It wasn't. She bowed her head, slouched over, and began to cry. "They're gone," she whispered.

"Hold it right there, we've got you surrounded!" shouted a voice, familiar and harmonic, from someplace behind her. A chill released her from her sudden sense of despair, and she rose to turn around.

"Donna," she cried.

Donna Troy, sided by Roy Harper and a green gorilla that was Gar Logan, stood a few yards away from the crystal-spinning girl. Donna's long black hair was a silken glaze over her striking face, but her face was currently contorted with stun: the intruder was Kole Weathers, her friend whom she believed to be dead, but there she stood, flesh and alive.

"KOLE!" screamed gorilla-Gar as he shape-shifted into human form and ran to her. Before Donna could move or speak, Gar had thrown his arms around Kole and pulled her to him.

"So I take it she's a friendly intruder," droned Roy Harper wanly as he lowered his bow and watched Donna follow Gar's lead. Roy sighed, shrugged, and started over to see what all the fuss was about.

Kole hadn't spoken a word yet. She still could hardly believe this was finally happening to her, that she was truly in the arms of her friends.

Donna pulled Gar from his hold on Kole and put her own hands on Kole's shoulders, standing face to face with her revived comrade. "How is this possible, Kole?" Donna choked, "We saw you—die."

Kole wiped her cheeks of tears and answered, "I did. And I'm back. It's a long story."

"Come inside," insisted Donna, as Gar shifted into a tiger and Roy scratched his head.

"Inside?" inquired Kole, thinking about the absent tower, "Inside _where_?"

Donna laughed. "It's a long story!" she countered.

A comforting sense of familiarity struck Kole Weathers as she quietly trailed her friends through the halls of this unfamiliar place; a mutual awkward silence prevailed, but no one made an effort to squelch it. They passed a common room, alight with overhead fluorescents and neon trimming along the soffets. Within, a huge television blared Saturday morning cartoons, and before the TV sat a striking young girl with silky black hair. To Kole, the girl looked like she could be Donna's child, though there was an Asian presence in her eyes. The black haired girl's eyes met Kole's and went wide. She dropped the Lego blocks she was busy snapping and stood.

"Daddy!" yelled Lian Harper, "Who's this lady?" She ran toward the group.

Roy knelt beside his daughter and put his arm over her shoulder. "This is our friend _Kole_ ," said Roy, "Kole, this is my daughter Lian."

Kole smiled as Lian reached her tiny right hand out to shake. Lian's eyes were large and bright, filling Kole's heart with joy. Kole reached back and obliged the greeting, saying, "Pleased to meet you, Lian."

As quickly as she had made her little presence known, Lian bolted back to her building blocks and parked herself in front of the TV. Roy chuckled and muttered, "Kids."

The four of them continued toward the kitchen area, with the momentary break in the awkward calm gone. Only tiger-Gar could be heard with excited banter about how he couldn't wait to call Vic, how he would love to see Bat-Boy's face when he heard the news, etc. Donna knew explanations were in order, and she dreaded having to tell Kole about Joey's passing, not to mention the circumstances preceding it. Roy just wanted to get a shower. Kole, filled with so many emotional butterflies, didn't know where she was going to begin with her tale. Roy broke off to the gym, the place he'd been hanging his personal belongings temporarily until he got quarters back in which to shave and shower. Tiger-Gar transformed into an owl and swooped in the direction of the main communications center, presumably to contact Vic Stone and Dick Grayson. Donna Troy took Kole's left hand in her right and led her into the kitchen.

"You must be thirsty," insisted Donna, "what can I get you."

"Some cold water would be great," replied Kole, still somewhat apprehensive at what quite possibly could be just another false reality, jarred by memories of similar scenarios that had been played out for her over the last few years. Tangible or not, she wasn't ready to give up her trust quite yet.

"Donna," Kole began, "when we touched, I sensed such alarming confusion. It all felt so _real_."

Donna set Kole's glass of water on the table and sat across from her. She stretched her arms across, intending they should hold hands again. Kole obliged with a pallid smile and closed her eyes. Donna did the same, for when she initially held Kole a few minutes earlier, she too felt the flood of disorder, perhaps a remainder of the 'gift' Dark Angel bestowed on her. She knew that somehow Kole had touched that part of her psyche. They remained that way, unmoving, for quite some time, and when Donna opened her eyes, she saw something amazing, a kind of phenomenon for which words would not suffice.

Kole, with eyes still tightly shut, was aglow, her alabaster skin now crystalline, almost opaque, capturing and refracting every bit of light in the room. The cherubic curves of her face were now sharp, chiseled edges of a million-sided gem, radiant and resplendent. The girl who once could spin crystal had now become crystal, and yet the touch of her hands still held the warm fire of life. Surprisingly, Donna didn't gasp or react in any way other than calm; somehow she expected this as a natural development. It quite possibly was part of the explanation as to how she survived death.

Kole opened her eyes, grinned, and released Donna's hands. "Robert and Terry were real, Donna," she said, "and they're at peace."

Donna's heart raced. This was the event in her life that needed closure the most, with her personal history being so convoluted and almost unraveled by Dark Angel. She needed to know they were once there, that she did indeed once hold her lovely coiled-haired son, that those memories were never false. She had to know that the tragedy, which stole them from her, left them at peace. And right now, sitting adjacent to someone who was resurrected from the dead and metamorphosed into a higher level of being, she truly believed Kole's words. They not only rang true, they were gospel.

Before Donna Troy's eyes, Kole's hardened skin reverted back to flesh, cheeks rosy, lips pink, and eyes clear cerulean. The girls stood and hugged, and this time it was a different embrace, a homecoming of sorts.

"Yes! Girl on girl action!" barked wolf-Gar as he trotted into the room and expanded into human form. "Titans Girls Gone Wild, now on VHS and DVD!" he added.

Donna chuckled, and faced Kole. "Some things never change," she reassured.

A few hours later, it was a veritable Titans reunion in the monitor room of their half-destroyed headquarters. Present were Donna, now in her Troia leotard, Gar Logan, playfully dubbed Beast Boy (and surprisingly in human form), Roy Harper suited up as Arsenal, Toni Louise Monetti, a new member of the group called Argent with curly black hair and no skin color, Dick Grayson, Nightwing-in-full except for the mask, Wally "the Flash" West, and a handsome, non-robotic Victor Stone. As each Titan had arrived, stories were exchanged and histories rehashed. Wally was married with a kid on the way, Vic went through some heavy transformations, one which nearly destroyed the Earth, before he got to his current state of nearly human, and Gar, despite the day's exhibitions of usual immaturity, had really grown up, so much so that he was intent on recreating a new Titans West organization. The only consistency throughout each person's reintroduction to Kole was that no one mentioned Joey Wilson. His name was avoided, and any topic that might involve what the souls of Azarath did to him was considerately omitted. Not that it went by Kole Weathers unnoticed. In fact, it didn't surprise her that they didn't want to tell her of his physical death. They just had no idea she already knew.

"Has anyone heard from Kory?" inquired Kole softly.

"She's been spending time on Themyscira with the Amazons," responded Donna. "We can get her here if you like."

Kole didn't answer. She nodded, and sighed heavily. The time had come for her to tell, to answer the queries the folks around her were secretly clamoring to uncover. She stood, stretched her arms before her chest, drew open her hands, and spun a crystal. It glowed, incandescent, lighting the room.

"Whoa," murmured Argent, catching a glare from Nightwing that said, _be quiet, Toni_. She rolled her eyes and silently mouthed, _whatever_.

The gemstone in Kole's hands grew just larger than a grapefruit as it stopped spinning. Its glow took on a different property, a holographic one, which slowly began to expand. In a matter of seconds, a projection, cast like a three dimensional film, was playing out for the small, titanic audience.


	4. Crystalline Transformation

The Titans, and a cadre of other uniformed characters, were fighting for the lives of innocent New Yorkers as ashy gray, intangible wraiths swarmed the skies above Brooklyn. The sky was alight with a soulless, pinkish anomaly, later to be referred to as the Crisis, speckled with charges of lightning and anti-matter specters. Sounds drowned their ears: screams of the terrified throngs, rumblings of buildings moving from their foundations, an unearthly hum which was the portent of the anti-matter wall closing in on them.

Roy Harper was there, at the time still going by the moniker of Speedy, firing off arrows at the immaterial wraiths while safeguarding a trio of children. Members of the Justice Society fought closely behind, heroes who were close in memory, others whose presence remained a mystery.

The image began to zoom in behind a tenement where Kole, whose face read like an open book about fear, was spinning a crystal dome, intent on shielding herself and her charges within. The holograph seemed to flicker as if it had begun to lose energy, like someone unplugged the projector, just as the gray wraiths slipped effortlessly through Kole's crystal field. Suddenly, where the dome had just been, it was gone. Kole was gone, and those she was attempting to protect were gone.

Donna shuddered. "Hera," she whispered. Seeing it over again, from an almost out-of-body experience, was grueling, chilling. She looked to her left. Nightwing stood still, arms crossed. To her right, Beast Boy was astonished, covering his open mouth with his hands, almost hiding his eyes from the vision before him. Cyborg, Arsenal, and the Flash muttered a chorus of "whoa." Donna wanted to make Kole stop this exploit immediately, but she knew the purpose behind the transmission.

Abruptly, cued on by the crystal-spun vision before her, Kole's body became crystalline again as it had earlier that morning in the kitchen. There was a collective gasp, except from Nightwing who seemed to almost expect the transformation. Attention was no longer on the spinning crystal above Kole's hands. The overhead fluorescents flickered and dimmed, reverberating a dull hum, as Kole's body began to glow. Any light filling the room now emanated from the crystal being that was Kole Weathers, and it was a near-blinding luminosity. Argent shielded her eyes with her right hand, Beast Boy morphed into a copperhead snake, and Arsenal readied himself with a stun arrow, hoping he wouldn't have to use it. Taking notice to the events filling the room, Nightwing shouted, "Stand down!"

Kole's body began to levitate, her head angled straight toward the ceiling. The dazzling light show of dancing, blinding color began to soften and take three-dimensional form once again, but this time and more real. Quiet hues blended into darkness, like the house lights going down at the start of a feature film. The living crystal girl seemed to vanish, leaving only the holographic images of her memories. Argent, confused and frightened, whispered, "Dick?" to Nightwing, who reached over and rested his hand on her back.

"Shh," he murmured.

The "film" began. Snake-Gar thought this experience was what the characters on his old Sci-Fi TV drama would portray when they'd enter their Virtual Holo-room. There they stood, watching Kole's past unfold before them. Her body lay on the floor, garbed in her original Titans' uniform, angular skirt and pixie-like caping draped over her lifeless form. She was in a huge room with the sound of whirring machinery and console lights flickering. A figure stood above her, shadowed, and demanded that she get up. She was groggy, and her arms felt like lead. The demanding voice sounded familiar, and both Troia and Nightwing recognized it immediately.

Kole stood, her head heavy. Her skirt was tattered, the crystals broken from the hem. "Where am I?" she asked, with leftover fear in her small voice.

The voice from the shadows replied, "You are in _hell_ , my dear, so make yourself comfortable." A hand reached out and yanked Kole's hair, pushing her head downward. " _Kneel_ before your master," shouted the voice, and as Kole complied, rapturous, demonic laughter filled the echoing room.

The Titans who were helplessly witnessing these past events were all suddenly blinded by a burst of white light, accompanied by what sounded like a match lighting.

"What the—" shouted Arsenal, as each Titan stood ready to defend themselves from something unknown, unseen.

As their collective vision began to resurface, it was apparent that the holo-show had ended, that Kole was still standing before them, very much alive, no longer in living crystal mode. She was crying. Her cheeks were wet and puffy. Her red curls were in disarray around her face. "I'm sorry," she sobbed.

Troia approached her friend and comforted her. Snake-Gar changed into black bear-Gar and said nothing, as did the others. Even Argent was unusually tacit.

Kole coughed and rubbed her eyes. She worked up a smile and said, "I never got a look at his face, Donna."

Not wanting to push Kole for more information, but knowing the insight could be necessary, Donna asked, "What happened next, Kole? Can you remember?"

"I think I need to sit," she replied, "but, yes, I do remember, I remember it all too well."

Soon the group was in the meeting hall, each sitting around a semi-circular table with the "T" logo in the center, slowly turning clockwise as if on a lazy Susan. All were seated except Nightwing, leaning against Kole's chair as if to grant her strength, and Beast Boy, who was flapping his green hummingbird wings just north of Cyborg's head. Troia sat to Kole's right.

Kole began speaking. She had stopped trembling and had steeled herself, for she knew she was among friends, or better yet, _family_. She spoke of the evil master, who never revealed his name or identity to her, with a mixture of awe and terror. He had sensed her death during the Crisis and told her it was that event which had opened his eyes and blessed him with the fervor with which he would soon rule all the realities. He had watched his brother die the way he'd seen Kole die, but he knew there was a difference. Where his brave brother had disintegrated into ash on the pavement, nothing remained where Kole had perished, only tiny shardlets of crystal. It was assumed that the crystals were all that was left of the shield Kole had forged to find protection. But her master had known better. Her essence was inside the crystal; it had been the natural course of her evolution.

As Kole spoke the words, Troia's eyes met Nightwing's. All other eyes in the room were riveted on Kole.

"Somehow he was able to pull me out of the crystal, but when he did, my powers were gone," she said, calmly, "and I was helpless."

Hummingbird-Gar swooped over toward Kole and chirped, "How'd you get them back?"

Kole continued. "He kept me prisoner for what seemed like months. I became so malnourished at one point that it was all I could do to actually hold myself upright." She cleared her throat and carried on. He told me you had all died, that the white wall had obliterated the Earth. At first, I lost my will to fight. I just wanted to give up. But his stories began to change, telling me that some of you had survived but had turned evil and needed to be _eradicated_." There was heavy emphasis on that last word, and Kole explained, "That's the way he would say it, that you needed to be eradicated. I thought it sounded so campy, and I knew he was clearly insane.

"Soon, I started hearing other voices, but they couldn't hear me whenever I shouted for help. He would tell me that he had been amassing an army to eradicate the transformed heroes so he could retain his stature as Lord of Chaos."

Nightwing shook his head and grimaced. _That bastard_ , he thought. Troia caressed Kole's arm. "Go on," she whispered.

"With my meals he would deliver a hot drink, and insisted I drink it. He had claimed it would bring my powers back so I could join his army. Ugh, it was rancid, but he'd stand over to be certain I drank it. I knew it couldn't be poison, because I really did feel my strength coming back. The day he had told me about Joey, how his own father and all of you had killed Joey, was the day I knew I had to escape this place and find out for myself what was going on. I forced myself to eat up and drink that horrible concoction. I did sit-ups and push-ups and leg lifts, just to keep my body in shape. But I hid the fact that my powers were resurging, getting stronger by the day.

"I managed to unlock my cell with a crystal key, and I hurried along what looked like a labyrinth to where I had been hearing all those voices. There were hundreds of costumed people, none of whom I'd recognized, and still no one seemed to notice me. I walked through the crowd, bumping into people on purpose just to get a reaction, but got nothing. And then I saw a girl who looked like Tara Markov. That's when I thought I really must be dead and that place _was_ hell, because I knew for a fact she was dead.

"I called her name, so loud I thought the master would hear me, but didn't care. Still, she didn't hear me, or at least she didn't acknowledge me. So I ran over to her and grabbed her arm, and that's when it all happened."

Hummingbird-Gar transformed into a rat as the others rustled in their seats, eager to hear what would come next.

Kole spoke again. "She looked into my eyes, but it seemed like she couldn't see me, like I truly was invisible. But I could see me, and I could feel her, and suddenly my skin began to change into hard crystal, and I could feel Terra's thoughts and hear her past in my head. That's the best way I know to describe it. Somehow by touching her I was able to pull her memories into my head, and see through her eyes. But I was also sure that in my crystal form, I had somehow become indestructible.

"I let go of her arm and ran, because now I knew the way out thanks to her memories. It was like escaping a dream, like that moment right before you awaken from a nightmare and realize that everything's okay. I found myself in New Jersey, outside the barn at yours and Terry's farmhouse, Donna."

Troia gasped. That's where she had lived after she had given birth to Robert and lost her powers. It's also where she was den mother to several meta-humans who had claimed to be from the future, one of which was Tara Markov, Terra. "How is that possible, Kole? Why didn't you come to me then?" insisted Donna.

"I did come to you, Donna," reassured Kole," but you couldn't see me. The only person who could sense my presence was Terra, even though she couldn't see me either. I was a living ghost, wandering around both waiting for the master to retrieve me and for someone to finally see me. I was able to touch others, but not interfere. I could read people by holding them. I began to develop those powers a little better, such that I could gather what information I needed rather than just random memories."

"After months and months of wandering, not needing to sleep or eat, another universe-threatening event began, which some refer to as 'Zero Hour.' My former jailor had transformed himself into something bigger, larger than even he knew, and he toyed with the time stream. His minions did his will, distracting the heroes of Earth so he could complete his plan. Obviously he was defeated, but changes were made in the time line. I was one of them.

"I woke up on a beach in the Mediterranean, nude except for a silken robe. I had no memory of who I was, or how I had gotten there. I found my way into a village and a wonderful family took me in and nurtured me. Communication was difficult, because they spoke Greek and I didn't. But we managed. A few weeks ago, I began to manifest my crystal spinning powers again, and little by little along with it came some memories. There was a boy from town who spoke English and would come walk with me to the water. He would help me to learn his language, and he would ask me questions to try and help jog my memory. His name is Niko.

"Anyway, before I knew it, I was back to full strength, still able to spin crystal but also able to read people through touch. I had to return to you guys to see if you were alive, to see if what had happened to Joey was true."

Arsenal rose from his chair. "That is some tale, Kole," he said, "And if you don't mind, I need a drink now. Can I get anyone anything?"

Argent offered to go with him, but the others remained. Kole looked about. Aside from Princess Koriand'r and Joseph Wilson, her family was surrounding her, all the people she loved best. The Flash, with mask removed and flopped over his shoulders, stood and was instantly on the opposite side of the table, standing next to Nightwing.

"Kole," he said, "I know we never really worked together much, but I have to say I'm so glad to see you're home. I think I speak for all of us."

"Damn Skippy," agreed Vic Stone. Kole smiled a big toothy smile at him and he winked back.

Kole stood also, as did Donna, and they hugged again. She smiled and said, "So, when should we go rescue Joey?"

Silence erupted. Nightwing looked at Kole and said, "Kole, that part was true. Joey really is dead."

Kole shook her head. "No, Dick, he's not. And I know where to find him!"

Precisely two minutes and thirty-seven seconds later, Wally West arrived at the S.T.A.R. labs facility in San Francisco. He briefed several of his colleagues on the claims made by their former teammate who, herself, had been presumed dead for the last few years. He then called back to the Titans in New York. A green-maned steed named Beast Boy answered the call.

"What up, Flash-Bulb?" Horse-Gar quipped, then neighed.

"Here's the deal, Logan," replied the Flash, "Karen and her staff are preparing things here for your arrival, but I'm heading off to Central City to see if I can find the other missing piece to this crazy puzzle."

Horse-Gar flipped his thick, chartreuse tail excitedly. "You think you'll find her?" he asked. There was a small pause over the receiver, and then the Flash responded. "I think I know _exactly_ where to find her, green genes."

Soon an assembly of stalwarts was in the underground hangar of Titans' Tower, almost welcomed by the glistening white body and wings of the T-Jet, a state-of-the-art aircraft that had somehow survived the many attacks on it's Tower and shelter. Argent loved the T-Jet. It still made her feel so many things, from wildly enthusiastic to nervous and tingly; it represented her inclusion within the ranks of this great team of young heroes. Her mind wandered a little as Nightwing was going over the plan and she almost didn't hear what he just told her.

"Excuse me?" Toni asked derisively.

Nightwing flatly reiterated, "I'm sorry, Toni, we're not all needed on this one. You'll stay behind with Roy."

Argent grimaced. Hands on her hips, she huffed and stormed off, with two words of angry departure: "That _sucks_."

Donna Troy shrugged and smiled at Nightwing. She looked at Kole and asked, "Are you ready?"

"More than you know," the crystal spinner replied. She followed Donna up the stairs aboard the jet, preceded by Nightwing and Cyborg. Beast Boy, now assuming the form of a growling green tiger, was already on board making silly jungle noises. Within seconds, the engines were revved and a course was plotted westward. From above, in the main control room, Arsenal arranged the exit hatch and gave Nightwing the go-ahead. The jet was underway.


	5. Interlude 1- Fire and Ice

The island nation of Themyscira is a lush, tropical hideaway just south of Crete in the Mediterranean Sea. The island's inhabitants are a legendary race of what some refer to as "Amazons," whose heritage and culture date back to mythological beginnings, and to most of the outside world, people are still cynical about the Amazons' origins. If not for Themyscira's most famous export, the heroine called Wonder Woman, most people would still regard the island the way they did Atlantis, almost imaginary. That status was due largely in part that tourism isn't huge on Themyscira; the natives don't care for visitors solely for tourism's sake.

The time was 3:45pm, and the sun was still high in the sky as one very welcomed guest to the island indulged in the glory of the day. She was contemplative. Much had happened in her life recently, which had led her on this retreat to her 'sister's' homeland. She wasn't the type to try and escape her fears and worries, but meditation had its merits and she knew a personal regroup was key for spiritual wholeness. She felt that soon she'd be able to make a decision as to where her path would next guide her, either back out to the black depths of space or to her adopted home in the United States.

Beside a narrow river which washed toward the island's edge, she lay on a patch of grainy sand and rocks, her long, taut legs bent at the knees, perched on her elbows with her head arched back. Her tawny hair, thick like the mane of a lion, poured around her body like a blanket. Her golden skin seemed to glow from the afternoon's sunshine, appearing as if she was encircled by an aura of light. Goddess-like in her stature, she was a vision to behold for men and women alike. But the sisters on the island knew that she was there for retreat, and she had wished not to be disturbed. So she was able to sunbathe privately, dressed only with the warm, soft breeze and misty wetness from the waterfall emptying into the river by which she basked.

She was known as Starfire, alien powerhouse member of the Titans, endowed with the ability to project bursts of caustic energy from her hands; they were called starbolts, and depending on the intensity of the blast, could break down a brick wall and potentially kill a human being. She was born into royalty on Tamaran, a lush world that only knew peace until the day came that an invasion meant the balance between her freedom and her peoples'. To her people, she was heralded as Princess Koriand'r. To her captors, she was nothing but a slave. Aside from the starbolts, she was a combatant of warrior's proportion, trained by a race of beings dedicated solely to war and strife. It was this training that helped her escape to Earth those few short years ago, landing almost literally in the collective lap of the Teen Titans. Though her life had been miserable and torturous thus far, she had no way of knowing what would become of her once rooted on Earth.

She had been blessed with a pseudo-family in her fellow Titans, most especially with Donna Troy and Dick Grayson, who had given her the nickname Kory. Dick and Donna were the glue that kept her grounded in emotional moments when she could have easily given into her fierce nature. They were also suppliers of the love that had been wrenched from her on the day she was wrenched from her weeping father's arms.

Wind began to kick up in the flora behind her, cold gusts wafting her way. It made her shiver and sit up, cradling her arms around her bent legs. Her wide green eyes scanned the wooded perimeter, looking for… something, just uncertain as to what. With the cold, she sensed a familiar presence. The smell of jasmine was suddenly pungent, bringing with it a metallic taste on the tip of her tongue. Kory's hands began to shimmer with a red-hot energy as she stood and shouted, "Who's there?"

An icy breeze washed over her back as she spun in the sand and gawked at what stood before her. It was the essence of a woman she had known as Raven, aglow in ghostly, yellowish form, part physical, part immaterial. Faint hints of black and velvet-blue crept through the nearly colorless apparition before her. It appeared as if Raven had become godly, much like Kory's own deity, X'Hal. The apparition raised its hand and reached out to Kory.

"Raven?" Kory asked, the starbolt energy dwindling from her hands.

"Koriand'r," replied the specter, "you are needed." The voice was muffled, as if being thrown by a ventriloquist. Its lips never moved.

Kory stepped toward the ghost that was Raven and offered her arms forward; unexpectedly, Kory was able to feel Raven's hands. They morphed from being stone cold to suddenly humming with warmth. Color began to rise in Raven's skin, her cloak, her rings. The eerie haze that encircled her began to fade. The two women stood, hands clasped, Raven's neck arched to meet eyes with her towering alien friend. Raven's black eyes locked on Koriand'r's. Though no words were being exchanged, transference of knowledge and understanding was taking place. Raven seemed to be nonverbally downloading information to Kory.

Kory's muscular arms seemed filled with electrical vibes as images were racing through her mind. This moment was to be the culmination of her retreat on the Amazon's isle, for now her path was evident. Her teammates were in trouble, and she was needed. She didn't question how Raven had known, or why she herself didn't simply intervene on the Titans' behalf. All Koriand'r knew was that her homecoming was about to take place, someplace in the skies above Ohio, as the fate known as Raven had just envisaged.

Kory released Raven's hands and bent to grab her things. Raven immediately began losing color and substance again, drifting back into her glowing ghostly form.

"How much time do I have, Raven?" asked Kory, armoring up in a purplish metallic uniform that was more like a swimsuit.

The apparition nodded as it lifted a fading black hood over its head, and said, "Leave now."

Koriand'r slipped her large feet into their boots, and turned to say goodbye to her immaterial friend; that which was Raven was gone. Kory took a glance around at the splendor she was about to leave and peered up toward the sun. Her thick hair began to thicken as her feet lifted off the sand, and as she streaked away from Themyscira, only a smoking-hot trail of fire remained in the sky, marking Starfire's path back home.


	6. T-Jet Down

An undetected direct hit to the T-Jet's right wing immediately jerked the plane, sending those inside crashing to the left. Troia's head hit Nightwing's with such fierce velocity that his vision was temporarily gone, but he never lost his grip on the steering console.

"Dick!" screamed Troia as she swiftly regained composure and grabbed her friend by the arm.

"It's okay, Donna," he muttered, straightening the nose of the jet and blindly locking the autopilot. He cleared his throat and yelled, "Gar, Donna, _Recon_!"

Following this man's lead came naturally to this group of heroes. As the words were being spoken, Troia had already appraised the situation, acknowledging the rest of her teammates' conditions, and was poised to leave the jet; Beast Boy was a green eagle, wings aflutter, impatiently awaiting the release of the cabin door.

Troia shot a look to Cyborg, one he instantly knew as an unspoken ' _you're in charge_ ' command, punched the door release and jumped, followed by eagle-Gar. Simultaneously, Nightwing shouted, "Cyborg!"

Cyborg smiled over toward Kole, a vibrant look of reassurance, and vaulted himself to the co-pilot's chair. "I'm here, Robby," bolstered Cyborg.

"Kole… is she—" began Nightwing, as he suddenly felt her hands on his shoulders.

"I'm alright, Dick," said Kole calmly, "but I think Vic is needed on wing repair. I'll co-pilot," she said.

Nightwing wiped his hands over his eyes, trying to clear his vision. "Vic, what's the damage report?"

Vic Stone's left eye had been replaced many years ago by a computerized, laser-driven opti-cell; it could do many things the normal human eye could not, one of which was to zoom in on miniscule areas, much like a microscope. He had already scanned the wing damage and deduced that it had been ruptured from beneath by some type of missile or targeted explosive. Someone on the ground was taking pot shots at the jet. The rupture seemed to be contained to the wing, just barely inches from the engine. Cyborg knew it was simple repairs, and as he shared his analysis with his teammates, he began the repairs.

Tendril-like wires popped out from his cybernetic forearm and plugged themselves into the T-Jet's forward console. Cyborg was about to try something he hadn't done before, but he was confident it would work. His body was no longer simply half human and half machine; when he was merged with the alien community known as the Technis, he had absorbed techno-organisms into his bloodstream called nan-orgs which worked in unison with his red and white blood cells. They were cleansing agents for the computerized part of him, and could be transferred into any other machine through Cyborg's will. Plainly put, he had the ability to "cure" machines.

"Kole," asserted Cyborg, "can you still make crystal anythings? You know, like a chair or a birdcage?"

Kole furrowed her brow curiously. "Yes, Vic, that much is still the same," she reassured.

"Good," responded Cyborg, "put a crystal-plug in that gaping hole out there, willya? I got the rest from inside."

Nightwing's vision started returning; with a nod, he affirmed Cyborg's plan as Kole moved toward the still-open cabin door. The air stream was furious, but Kole held tightly to a canvas hand cord with her left hand. Her right hand glowed like a prism as she projected a burst of crystalline particles toward the T-jet's wing. The first blast of crystal missed the wing completely as it whipped off into the blue sky. She needed to focus, realizing the wing wasn't exactly an easy target while roaring forward at jet-engine speed. Kole steeled her feet and clenched her teeth, pushing the crystal with all her might to its destination. The second blast clung snugly to the hole in the wing like a shimmering bandage. From his vantage point at the co-pilot's window, Cyborg got a glint of sparkle from Kole's repair work.

Kole reached outward for the door hatch and tugged it closed; through the strain, she managed to get the hatch locked in place. She inhaled deeply then exhaled with exhausted satisfaction. "Wing's mended, guys," shouted Kole, "at least superficially!"

Nightwing had already begun descent to rendezvous with Troia and Beast Boy as he questioned Cyborg: "How's it coming, Vic?"

Cyborg looked at his friend while concurrently retracting his tendrils from the console. "Done," he replied, "We're good to go, baby."

A few hundred yards below, Troia, arms stretched before her, hovered beside the green eagle that was Beast Boy. They each scanned the ground beneath them, hoping to catch a sighting of what—or whom—was responsible for damaging their jet.

"Anything yet, Gar?" Troia asked as she peered west.

"Yah, not so much," responded eagle-Gar sarcastically. His silliness, even in the face of danger, never ceased to make Donna Troy snicker silently. As she allowed herself that momentary lapse in concentration, Troia began to sense something from behind her, but before she could react, energy, like a wave of electric static, surrounded her body. At first it felt tingly, until it worsened and began constricting her muscles; it was a matter of seconds before her mind went completely blank. Troia began plummeting downward, her limp body falling like a rag doll.

Eagle-Gar shrieked, "Donna!" His voice resembled nothing human. Wings strong against the wind, he instantly changed course and began after his falling friend. His mind raced: what shape could he take that would not only allow him to hold her safely, but keep them both from splattering on the velvety fields below. At this height, he doubted either one of them could survive the drop. Instinct took charge, as, in a flash of yellowish light, an emerald eagle became a jade gorilla. Gorilla-Gar reached with both hairy arms extended, simian fingers only inches away from Troia. However, the two of them suddenly became engulfed in a sphere of sticky, pink goop. It smelled an awful lot like bubblegum, but there was a different consistency to it, and try as he might, even gorilla-Gar's monstrous strength couldn't punch his way out.

Freefalling like a stone inside a balloon, Troia, barely conscious, squeezed open her eyes and whispered to gorilla-Gar, "Claws." Instantly, her teammate transformed into a 300-lb. tiger. He scratched against the side of the rubbery enclosure that trapped him and Troia, but again got nowhere. It was obvious that neither brute strength nor razor sharp claws were they key, about as obvious as the swiftly approaching earth below them.

"Donna, wake up!" shouted tiger-Gar emphatically. He pawed at Troia's shoulders and shook, but she was out for the count. They were only several hundred feet from impact when gradually the pinkish bubble began to slow, floating softly toward the field below. It felt to tiger-Gar like an invisible hand had caught them and was gently putting them down. Just as the bubble touched the first blade of grass, it popped; it sounded like a teenaged girl's gum bubble bursting, only magnified. The pink rubbery substance was now all over tiger-Gar's fur, and glued on to Troia's midnight-sky black jumpsuit.

"Great!" shouted tiger-Gar, "how am I gonna get all this goop off'a my shiny green coat?"

"That's the least of your problems," said a familiar voice from behind him as tiger-Gar felt his body stiffen from an electrical discharge; as he fell, rigid, to the ground, his body changed back to its human form, draping inches away from Troia's.

The T-Jet was closer now and the sniper had it firmly in his sights. His first shot, intended to disable the jet and separate the team, hit dead on. He had laughed aloud as he witnessed Troy and the green kid exit the jet, thinking how very predictable those brats were. With Grayson aboard that jet, as intelligence had notified him, the next round was going to be interesting, but a round worth playing. And now at his feet lay two down: one powerhouse and one nuisance. According to Intel, two more were on the jet with Grayson, and disabling them wouldn't break a sweat. This made the sniper laugh a little more.

"Hey," yelled the sniper's female associate, between chomps on four pieces of Bazooka, "lemme in on the joke!"

The assailant, looking upward through the scope of his weapon, didn't respond; with the T-Jet dead in his sights, he squeezed out another shot, this one meant to down the vessel completely. As he lowered his firearm, he smiled beneath his full-face mask and watched the jet explode amidst the cloud-speckled blue sky above.

His female associate screeched in hilarity. Her laugh seemed fake, forced, insane. Beside her stood another associate, a male, stunned at what he'd just witnessed. When he signed up for this job, he wasn't in it for the kill, just the thrill. A little bit of revenge, maybe, but no death. He started thinking this was getting a little out of hand. He stepped forward and reached out toward the sniper, who innately twisted his own arm back and grabbed the associate's fingers, bending them backward.

"Ow!" exclaimed the male associate, grimacing in pain, but managed to say what he was feeling. "I'm not being responsible for any deaths, man. I'm outta here _now_!" he said as he yanked his fingers from the sniper's grip.

"Michael, my little moron, your underestimation of this group of heroes will always be your undoing," stated the sniper calmly as he pointed an index finger upward. "That shot was more than anticipated, you see. Just keep watching and observe the resourcefulness of your enemy."

Michael looked upward, using his hand (the one not being crunched) as a visor to block the sun. Squinting, he could barely make out the image, but he could see something shiny jutting downward, refracting the sunlight. It looked like a prismatic water slide, spinning in a circular wave as it stretched to the ground below. Near that, a metallic object hovered, and it appeared to be holding someone. He guessed that was Cyborg and Nightwing, but what the hell was that crystal slide thing?

Suddenly the ground beneath Michael's feet erupted in red fire. Chunks of earth spattered around as he fell on his knees, watching as more bolts of fire shot from the sky near where his associates stood. As he stumbled, he wondered if Mr. Know-it-all had seen _this_ coming.

Notably, Cyborg's cyber-enhanced implants allowed him to morph his molybdenum parts into anything he could imagine; currently he had a glider jutting from his back, safely lowering himself and Nightwing to the land below. Nightwing was already armed with bat-shaped throwing stars among other surprises. Kole, not far away from the gliding twosome, was lowering herself to the earth with a crystal slide as she beheld a sight of fuming magnificence and yelled, "Kory!"

There below they could see Starfire aiming concentrated starbolts at some costumed characters. Nightwing pressed a tiny chip on the left side of his mask, lowering binoculars over his eyes, and peered at the ground. He immediately recognized the folks who Kory was blasting at, surmised who had shot down the T-Jet, and began to mentally prepare his team's defense strategy. Kory, sometimes a loose cannon, could fit well in the mix, he thought. As they got closer to the ground, he saw Troia and Beast Boy unconscious, swathed in a Pepto Bismol- colored substance. That was not good, but it wouldn't hurt his strategy.

With a gesture from his leader, Cyborg veered off toward Kole so Nightwing could fill her in on the plan. She was eager to oblige. Once they were close enough for a safe free-fall landing, Nightwing dropped acrobatically and let Cyborg loose to head off his quarry. As 'Wing vaulted and landed perfectly in a soft patch of grass, he whispered to himself, "Wilson is _mine_."


	7. Back in a Flash!

Blue Valley was a small, somewhat Rockwellesque hamlet in the suburbs of Central City. The town limits stretched for a 3.5-mile radius from the Village Green, set in the heart of it all. Standing at the rim of the field, along where the jogging path meets the park benches and assembles with a freshly planted row of birch trees, one can see the city skyline off to the north and an expanse of majestic green mountains due south. The antithesis of the two fairly defines the make-up of the Blue Valley natives: fast-paced country folk who enjoy the theatre and fine dining just as much as picnics and date night at the Park Street Twin Cinema. It was a community that prided itself on an extremely low crime rate, and a rather long life expectancy.

Three main streets intersected outside Blue Valley's Village Green: Park Street, Maple Avenue, and Grove Boulevard. Park Street was the business district of the town, where, besides the cinema, one would find Avery's Hardware and MaryJou's Card & Gift Shoppe. Grove Boulevard, which extended northwest, filtered down from commercial to residential after one street block; Maple Avenue was completely residential. The first house on the corner of Maple and Park, the one with the broken shingled roof and in desperate need of a paint job or new siding, belonged to the Kane's. A few years back, this family suffered a tragic, dreadful loss when Andrew Kane's family sedan slipped on a patch of wet pavement and careened off the highway, plunging into a cavernous sump area below. Andrew Kane and his son, Dennis, were killed instantly. His daughter Frances survived without a scratch. In fact, on that miserable rainy evening, Frances' mutant ability to warp and move metal kicked in full throttle as an involuntary, life-saving measure. If asked to recollect that night, Fran would draw a blank; she'd since blacked out all memory of the event. But if a witness, of which there were none, were to retell the story, they'd say the passenger-side door seemed to explode off its hinges just as the car pivoted off the hilltop road. They'd continue on that Frances' body slipped effortlessly out of the car and froze, hovering in mid-air, as the car, and her family, crashed below her in a fiery morass. But there were no witnesses, only Frances herself who had told the emergency personnel what she thought had happened and they chalked it up as post-traumatic shock. Of course it was impossible that she had survived and floated safely back to the road due to a sort of magnetic-telekinetic power. But her mother had believed. She had believed fervently.

Weeks before, Frances had shown indications of her strange, uncontrolled power while helping her mom with dinner preparations. Margaret Kane was a rigid, cantankerous woman of stout stature, and her presence instilled a disciplinary fear in her two children. When she spoke, Frances and Dennis knew to listen up and do what she'd said. Even Fran's dad had done his conscious best to let his wife wear the figurative pants. But that night, while organizing the silverware for the supper place setting, Margaret had begun to bark furiously at her daughter regarding a call from the school counselor earlier in the day. Frances had tried to withdraw, letting her mother rant unremittingly, but something had been different that night; there was a pervasive anger in Margaret Kane's eyes that truly frightened Fran. The more she'd withdraw, the angrier her mother seemed to become. At the moment Frances' mother had begun a thunderous shouting session, the silverware on the table had started to vibrate, tapping the Formica-framed table with a haunting rhythm. A pot on the front stove jet, which had been filled with parboiling water and whole potatoes, had initiated its own strange metallic dance. Engrossed in her tirade, Margaret hadn't noticed these things, but Frances couldn't seem to remove her disbelieving eyes from them.

Behind her mother, the metalware throughout the kitchen had slowly risen and congregated, still vibrating, as forks swirled around knives and spoons dipped and dove, lightly clanking against the dripping pot of potatoes. By the time Frances could generate the words to speak, it had been all she could do not to shriek. She'd thought a ghost must have been standing behind her mother, taunting and mimicking the woman's actions. And as Frances had been about to cry out at this sight, Andrew Kane had stumbled in upon this crazed, almost imaginary occurrence.

"What the hell..?" shouted Fran's father, which seemed to have freed her vocal chords to scream, and scream she did. The spinning pot began whipping around in a circle, drenching the three Kanes in nearly boiling water, shooting white potatoes across the kitchen. The mid-air knives had started to defy gravity and hurl themselves point-first into the ceiling in an almost perfect invisible square. Margaret Kane, appearing more angered than ever, had hollered, "FRANCES!" and suddenly the metal cabaret had stopped, all kitchen utensils thudding to the kitchen floor.

After that paranormal incident, the mood in the house had been all but pleasant. As Margaret had bellowed accusations that Frances was an evil, shameful hellspawn cast upon her for the sins of her youth, Andrew had sought the silent refuge of his garage workshop, soon joined by Dennis; Frances, sobbing into her pillow, had locked herself in her bedroom desperately struggling to drown out the sound of her mother's shrill voice. These metal manipulations hadn't just begun that night, but this was surely a fireworks display of them, and Frances had begun to wonder if maybe her overzealous mother was right.

So on the night of the accident, when Margaret Kane received the horrific news of her husband's and son's deaths, she had immediately blamed Frances. It was her daughter who should have died in that fiery catastrophe, but Satan spared the girl's miserable life to continue the torment on her. Frances had been rushed to Blue Valley General for observation, and Margaret's crazed haranguing prevented the police from letting her see her daughter. In the emergency room, behind a blue and yellow curtain, Frances had lain there listening to the exchange a few yards away, her mother insisting the girl be put down, the cops reassuring that if she didn't quiet down, they'd have her sedated. It had seemed to go on for hours, and somehow Frances had fallen asleep, but when she awoke, the silence deafened her. She had known from that moment on nothing would be right in her life ever again.

Now, when children pass by 192 Maple Avenue, remarks are cracked about the fat nut-job lady who lived in the Kane house. How she'd tried to kill her daughter. How her husband and son had burned alive but their ghosts made weird things happen in the house. The general stuff of urban legends, none of which were factual, just morphed and twisted as the years had passed. What most of the folks in Blue Valley didn't know was that Frances had since moved back into the old house, keeping mostly to herself, rarely going outside. Anything she needed she either ordered online or over the phone. The harder it was for anyone to find her, she'd contemplated, the better.

But the events happening today were going to put a speedy halt to that way of thinking, Fran would soon find out. A reddish whirlwind seemed to whip through the streets that led from Central City, burning a streak in the air straight for 192 Maple. Faster than any eye could see, a lanky man dressed from head to toe in a crimson spandex costume was standing at the entryway to Frances Kane's house. He reached a gloved hand and opened a creaky, rusty wire gate; he walked up the cement path that led to the front porch, and up a set of wooden steps by the front door. He noticed the mailbox door was hanging ajar, and there seemed to be a pile-up of undelivered post inside. By any standards, this house looked abandoned, but he knew his high school sweetheart was there, inside, alone. He had known her for most of his adolescence straight through to now, at which point he realized he wasn't sure he really _ever_ knew her. But, if what Kole had told him earlier was true, perhaps there was hope for Frances' current state of seclusion and self-loathing.

He got to the door, leaned his head forward to listen for… something, and then promptly knocked. "Fran?" He called, softly enough to not alarm any neighbors or start any dogs barking, but loudly enough that if she was inside hiding, she'd be sure to hear him. "Fran, it's me… Wally."

Unexpectedly, Frances opened the front door to greet Wally, her ex-boyfriend known as the Scarlet Speedster, the Flash. She was wearing a pink collared blouse with ruffled sleeves and a pair of dark denim jeans. Her feet were bare, her hair was wet, and her face was flush. "Hi, Wally," she said flatly, as if she'd expected his arrival, "I just got out of the shower. Come on in," continued Fran.

The Flash pressed a small clip on his ring and his red and yellow uniform almost impossibly disappeared into it. Now he stood in gray Nike track pants with a navy stripe down the legs and a Nike t-shirt; his carroty red hair was tussled just perfectly. "Fran," started Wally, but she stopped him before he could go on.

"Listen, Wally, I don't know what brings you here," Fran said expressionlessly, "but I am trying really hard to leave that whole world you so _thrive in_ behind me." The sarcasm was cutting, and Wally wondered curiously if he deserved it. All he ever tried to do for Fran was to help her, to get her balanced and in control. He never meant for any of the bad things that went wrong to happen. But he was mature enough to realize that perceptions are unique animals and surely Fran had her very own about what had happened to her since she came into contact with the Titans. She'd been manipulated by Dr. Polaris, kidnapped by the Wildebeest Society, possessed by Dark Raven, and maneuvered into a 'working relationship' with Wally's gallery of Rogues. Clearly he could understand how, as he was the common denominator of all these events, Fran would hold him responsible and carry an acerbic grudge.

"You want something to drink?" asked Fran, waking Wally out of his momentary inner dialogue.

"No, no thanks, Fran," replied Wally. He tried to put on his most honest, least passion-inflaming face and said, "Look, Fran, we have to talk about something."

At that moment, the room began to brighten as if the midday sun had found every window to the Kane house and directed all its rays toward it. Wally's instincts kicked in for the minute that this could be something to be wary of, but Fran's expressionless façade never wavered. Wally squinted and covered his eyes with his right hand, and he could see something emerging from thin air behind where Frances stood. It was almost angelic, filled with bright yellowish light. Without a thought, his Flash uniform was back on, ready to handle whatever situation might be about to arise.

And then he saw the visage. Light personified, glowing, but still the same sharp curvature in her face and hair as long and flowing. The velvety garb she used to wear was now bright and virtuous. It was—

"Raven…" whispered the Flash with a mixture of dread and disbelief. This was probably the last person—or entity, or _whatever_ —that Frances needed to have to deal with right now.

Frances hadn't moved. She shrugged her shoulders, rolled her eyes at the Flash, and sighed.

"Frances Kane," voiced the glowing Raven-entity, "Do not be alarmed. I am here to assist Wallace with your recuperation."

"My _recuperation_?" mocked Fran as she turned to face the entity that had been responsible for so many bad twists in her life. "You have _got_ to be joking, witch." Fran shot a look at the Flash and continued, " _How dare you_ bring this atrocious, demon monster into my home."

The Raven-entity said, "Wallace is not responsible for my arrival, Frances. I am here to help you, free you from that which tortures your psyche."

Frances was beginning to fume. Things all about the room had started twitching anxiously as if they were ready to propel themselves throughout the house in an insane magnetic tornado. The Flash was at a complete loss for words or action. He hadn't foreseen the whole Raven arrival thing, and wasn't sure how this was going to pan out. He really didn't want things to get messy, certainly not nearly as messy as they'd gotten recently between himself and Fran's alter ego, Magenta.

The Raven-entity continued, "I am here to free the non-corporeal soul of Joseph Wilson from inside you."


	8. Deathstroke the Generous

Someplace in Ohio, in a wide-open field, a group of costumed folks were waging a miniature war and were going about the battle as if jumping through systematic hoops. Starbolts were fired, lasers directed, fists connected, and gem walls built. In a clearing, Nightwing worked an efficient routine of thrusts, kicks and elbow jabs, while the mercenary known as Deathstroke the Terminator plainly kept time. Watching it was like watching a well-choreographed Bruce Lee flick. Nearby, the strapping guy in the red uniform who called himself the Disruptor was aiming his palms at Cyborg, sending off invisible waves of electromagnetic energy, sapping Cyborg's neural commands; before long, though, he found his gloves, the power source of his disrupting ability, encased in crystal. A sucker punch from behind took him down for the count. And all the while, the strange, chalk-faced girl with vivid emerald hair stood laughing, intermittently doubling over in hilarity at the fiasco unfolding before her.

" _Shut up_ , you clown!" shrieked Starfire as a precision starbolt kicked up a chunk of dirt into the hysterical girl's face. The girl fell flat on her bottom and wiped frantically at her eyes, spitting soil from her mouth. Starfire landed on the ground next to the jester girl and stood stoically, waiting for the slightest hint of another mocking giggle so she could stop using starbolts and start using Tamaranean fists. And then she noticed Kole.

"X'Hal," whispered Starfire, dumbfounded. "Kole?" she inquired with a mutter.

Kole turned to face the gold-skinned alien and felt a nostalgic pang in her gut. "Kory," she said as she began toward Starfire. However, Starfire made the first instinctive move and swooped over to collect Kole in her arms; the two girls hugged in midair amidst a corona created by Starfire's flame trail. "You're _alive_!" sang Starfire, spinning in an emotional frenzy. She laughed fervently, overjoyed to hold her friend's warm body so close.

Kole, too, was jubilant, but she was trying not to lose sight of the battle raging below them. "Kory, how did you find us?" she asked, hoping to break her sensitive teammate's reverie so as to get back and help the others.

"Raven guided me here, but I never expected _this_! I never expected _you_!" resounded Starfire, recollecting herself.

"How repulsively touching," scoffed Deathstroke as he landed a critical blow to Nightwing's Adam's apple, catapulting the darkly clad hero to the grass. Almost in the same movement, the Terminator's body twisted as he whipped out a collapsible pole arm and took aim at the hugging airborne twosome. Kole reacted almost as quickly and, by pushing it with her mind, wrapped Deathstroke's weapon (and, consequently, his right arm) in an orb of heavy gemstone. As the weight pulled the villain off balance, Nightwing had gotten up and capitalized on Deathstroke's misfortune; he didn't hold back when connecting the heel of his left boot with the Terminator's jaw. If the villain's face hadn't been completely covered by his sinister mask, surely a stream of bloody saliva would've spurted forth. The Terminator landed hard, and the cumbersome mass of crystal on his arm cracked as it hit the earth. Unfortunately for the mercenary, he was weaponless and surrounded by Nightwing, Starfire, Cyborg and Kole.

A few yards away, the Disruptor emphatically shouted, "This wasn't my idea," as he shook his head from the blow he sustained, "I swear it! I had other plans, I just wanted..."

"Belden, shut yer lousy trap," retorted Cyborg with a contemptuous snarl. The Disruptor knew this wasn't the best time to start a verbal mêlée, so he egregiously complied with the robotic hero.

Around the same time as Deathstroke was being defeated by teamwork, Troia and Beast Boy had both started to awaken, each a little fuzzy but neither worse for the wear. Beast Boy stood and reached a hand to Troia who graciously accepted the assist. They walked over to the group of Titans surrounding the villain who downed the T-Jet. Troia recognized the Disruptor and, unmistakably, the Terminator, but the girl in the jester-like jumpsuit with the painted face was unknown, yet strangely familiar.

"Who's the clown?" bubblegum-covered-Troia quizzed Deathstroke as Kole mentally reinforced the cracked crystal on his arm.

Beast Boy, tugging at the gum in his own hair, chimed in, "She calls herself the Harlequin and she claims to have been a member of the Titans." In mid-sentence, he morphed into a green bull, his leathery tail whipping to and fro. In a muffled, guttural intonation, he continued, "But all she really is is a big fat party crasher."

Nightwing studied the Harlequin's painted face; chalk white skin and blood red lips offset by curly jade green hair. She looked like a female version of the Joker, a creature he didn't like very much. After visually scanning the jester-girl's costume and belt, Nightwing silently nodded, directing Troia to assist the Harlequin to her feet and immobilize her. As the Harlequin stood, chuckling nervously, Troia took the girl's right wrist and twisted her arm behind her back, ensuring no escape. Nightwing stated, "Careful, Donna, she has gadgets."

"Ouch!" reacted the Harlequin with a louder anxious laugh, "go easy, Wonder-Chick, we're old friends, remember?"

Troia furrowed her brow as bull-Gar said, "See? Toldja, she's _whacked_."

Nightwing bent to one knee and leaned in toward the Terminator. He reached over and pulled off Deathstroke's mask, revealing the face of Slade Wilson, constant thorn in his side. A military crew cut resided above an aged yet rugged face. A silken patch covered one eye, and a devilish goatee adorned his chin. His lower lip was bleeding. He leaned in toward Nightwing so their faces were mere inches apart; he grinned and whispered, "You kids have no sense of humor."

Nightwing recoiled, Cyborg grumbled, and bull-Gar scraped his forward hoof in an agitated movement, breathing steam from his snout. Nightwing, still in command, stood and said, "I fail to see the humor in shooting our jet out of the sky, Wilson."

"I needed to get your attention, Grayson," responded the mercenary as Nightwing cautiously shot a look at the Disruptor who, listening intently, had just overheard the hero's secret surname; the Disruptor quickly shifted his own eyes to the ground. The Terminator continued, "and now that I have it, in more ways than one, I believe we need to discuss the small matter of your current mission."

Cyborg and Starfire tensely made eye contact, waiting for whatever tricks the Terminator may have been planning. Kole quietly stepped behind Troia's right shoulder and whispered, "I think he knows, Donna."

"Yes, my dear resurrected crystal spinner, I am well aware that my son is alive, albeit without any physical form to call his own," Deathstroke said casually, "and if you people plan to do anything about helping him, or your friend Frances Kane, you'll want me and my associates along on the journey."

"And why should we believe, let alone _trust_ , you, Wilson?" queried Nightwing, more agitated now than before, "If memory serves me right, it was your sword that killed Joey in the first place. What makes you think you're anywhere near the front of the list of people he wants to see when and if he opens his eyes again?"

Deathstroke snickered. "I am a man of many talents with even more connections, Grayson. Do you think for a minute I haven't been planning for this happenstance since the moment I impaled my son? Don't you think that I knew he had stepped out of his body and into one of your Azarath-possessed selves in the pursuit of survival? Can't you believe that I have scientists and physicians on my payroll who have already cloned Joey's body from cell samples I have always had in my possession?"

Cyborg snarled, "You sick bastard."

"Vic!" cautioned Nightwing. Kole stepped forward and caressed Deathstroke's cheek, her small, soft hands moving gently on his stubbly, worn face. Images flooded her mind. Names, faces, scenarios, lights, movements… Adelaide kneeling in her son's blood as he gasped for air while his throat had been slit... Grant literally melting before Slade's eyes from the experimental drugs given to him by the H.I.V.E… Joey's face distorted by the evil that had possessed him, fighting to be free yet fighting his father to the death... Countless sleep-deprived nights for Slade Wilson as he battled the torture of murdering his own son. Kole removed her hand and turned to face the Titans, tears falling from her crystal eyes.

"He's telling the truth, Victor," Kole cried, "he only means to help us bring Joey back."

Deathstroke stood. "Now, if you'll allow me to redeem my actions and prove that, for the time being, I only want to help, I offer you repayment for damages incurred." With his middle finger, he pressed a tiny receiver on his left glove and behind them the sound of engines roared to life.

Instinctively, Nightwing and Troia each grabbed one of the Terminator's arms, hoping to stop whatever it was he had just started. But Kole intervened, shouting, "Nightwing, it's okay, believe me!"

At that moment, out of a wooded area rose a sleek, pale blue metallic hovercraft, embellished with the Titans' T-logo on the side near the door hatch and on the underside of both wings. It lingered in the air some 40 feet above them, and soon it drifted lightly to the ground yards away from where they stood. All the while, no one said a word.

Then the terminator spoke. "Your old T-Jet was outdated and ready for the scrap heap, anyway. Consider this my gift to you for helping me resurrect my son." Each Titan looked at the Terminator with doubt, as he continued, "Feel free to inspect it for sabotage if you wish, but you have my word of honor that all is on the up and up."

Cyborg was already on his way toward the craft so he could plug into the wiring systems and check things out.

Nightwing, though impressed, still wasn't completely convinced. "You staged this whole thing to get our attention and recycle our transportation, Wilson. So why are the Disruptor and the Joker girl here with you?"

"Belden wants to redeem himself for his former days of crime and join your little troupe, and the Harlequin was cooperative enough to get me inside information that was necessary to make this theatrical event happen. Even as we speak, I have clean-up crews carting away the remains of your old jet, and have no fear, the debris landed in a vacant area. No one was injured in the crash, nor was any property damaged," stated Deathstroke. He smiled and offered forward his crystal covered right hand to Nightwing and asked, "So, do we have an agreement?"


	9. Of All The Awkward Flights

"Okay, bro, I rarely do the second-guess thing, but seriously?" inquired Cyborg. "Allowing Belden on this mission? You're not really considering letting that convict join, are you?" Cyborg asked Nightwing as the two sat at the helm of their new state-of-the-art Harrier II. They were en route to S.T.A.R. Labs in San Francisco where they'd rendezvous with the Flash and Frances Kane, as well as former Titan Karen Duncan. Evidently, according to Karen, technicians from Slade Wilson's private stock had already arrived earlier with their own equipment and what looked like a large holding tank. The tank was filled with a murky, almost placenta-like substance; as Karen's best guess it was a makeshift gestation cistern, perhaps the holding cell of Joey Wilson's cloned body. She gave Nightwing all the details he needed to be as fully prepared upon arrival as possible.

"It's a fair call to live by the motto, 'keep your friends close and your enemies closer,'" responded Nightwing with a sarcastic smirk, "You should know that mantra very well by now, Vic."

Cyborg grinned, both a little embarrassed and secretly annoyed that Dick couldn't seem to stop reminding him of what he'd nearly done to the moon, and, subsequently, the Earth, when he was the galactic being called Technis. The way Vic saw it, his humanity was all but gone inside a living techno-world, and it was pretty shitty that Dick couldn't wrap his super-detective mind around that. But Vic was also grateful for being rescued and restored, given his life back by Nightwing and the other Titans he knew as family. So he had learned to bite his tongue when Dick would go all arrogant on his ass. Wasn't that sometimes what families tended to do?

Behind them, Beast Boy, resplendent with a majestic emerald mane adorning his face, kept an almost feral watch on Deathstroke next to whom he sat. On his haunches, his sinewy legs and massive paws firm yet ready to lunge if necessary, lion-Gar yawned, revealing nearly 30 teeth, including large piercing canines, scissor-like molars capable of slicing into flesh, and small incisors which were perfect for scraping meat from bones. "Go ahead, _move_ ," he growled, "I double-Dutch _dare_ ya."

The Terminator tittered derisively. " _Please_ , Logan, I'd have you paralyzed faster than you could move either one of those big, strong, fearsome paws. Give it a rest." He sneered at his green-furred adversary and turned to face the front of the cabin. Lion-Gar decided to take the callous, vainglorious mercenary up on his suggestion and lay down; he nuzzled his enormous, mane covered head against Deathstroke's abdomen and purred.

At the rear of the vessel, in a charmingly ornamented lounge area, the ladies and Michael Belden sat on swivel chairs which formed a semi-circle; Troia seemed intrigued by the Harlequin's insistence that she was a member of the Titans, while Kole and Starfire caught each other up to speed on their respective tales of survival, and the Disruptor, mask removed, sat quietly, fidgeting about anxiously. His awkwardness was palpable, but he did his best to sit, listen and observe. His mind was racing like the mind of a second grader with ADHD, and between his own myriad thoughts, he heard words like "fabulous" and "amazing," and other exclamations that conveyed a surprised disbelief from their storytellers. He could tell the girls were overjoyed to be sitting together after what must have been years, but he couldn't shake the feeling of contempt he seemed to be getting from Troia. Every now and then she'd shoot a visual dagger at him during mid-sentence, exposing her distrust.

The Harlequin was chewing a mouthful of gum, sporadically cracking bubbles, between random bouts of the giggles. Her eyes danced around from Starfire to Kole to Troia, observing facial expressions and occasionally mimicking them. It began irritating Starfire who, though enrapt in dialogue with Kole, couldn't seem to ignore the mocking attitude.

"Donna," whispered Starfire, "can't you make her stop? She's freaking me out."

Troia switched focus from Belden to the Harlequin and asked, " _What_ is so funny?"

At this, the Harlequin howled, an unnerving, fingernails-on-chalkboard laugh. She managed, "It's a natural high, by the by. Why ask why? Pie in the sky." She trailed off and howled again. _Whooo Hoo Hoo…_

Troia grabbed the Harlequin's upper arm with an particularly firm grip, stopping the laughing girl's hysteria cold, and said, "Stop laughing or we'll cart you right back to Arkham once this mission's over." The Harlequin poised a comical face of clown-like sadness and froze, stiff and unblinking.

Michael Belden cautiously broke his silence and asked, "She's a weird one, huh?"

In perfect unison, like synchronized swimmers, the 3 girl Titans looked at him as Starfire said, "No one said you could talk."

Under his breath, Belden mumbled, "Jeez," as he promptly averted his eyes.

The rest of the trip was long and nearly unbearable for Belden; between Troia's glares, Starfire and Kole's chatter, and that freaky clown-girl's frozen-faced immobility, he couldn't wait to get off this plane. At the controls, Vic Stone sat quietly with mixed emotions, and to his right sat Nightwing, masked pseudonym of Blüdhaven cop Dick Grayson, visibly emotionless. A few feet back sat Slade Wilson wearing an eye patch and a wily grin, his mind focused on the restoration of his son. At his side, lion-Gar snoozed.


	10. Interlude 2- Argent's Lament

Back in New York, Toni paced the hallway outside the entrance to the underground river access port. Her short, deliberately tussled black hair was curled over headphones with the melodic sounds of T.A.T.U. playing on her iPhone. She was thinking so many things at once she could hardly keep them straight. Why was she on this team when Nightwing was constantly holding her back? Why was this song so amazing? Why didn't she go shopping with Lilith to Barney's when she'd offered earlier on? When was Garth finally gonna show up? Who picked that hideous color green for these walls? She was wearing an oversized heather-gray Titans' sweatshirt over her sleek black uniform, which was good foresight since it was kind of draughty down in these sub-level hallways. Caught up in her countless inner ramblings, Toni didn't notice the resonance of splashing water within the river access port, but movement in her periphery alerted her to Garth's arrival.

" _There_ you are, Garth," exclaimed Toni loudly, senses altered by the loud music in her ears. She removed her headphones. "Gawd, what took you so long?"

"Long, complicated story, Toni," said Garth, real name of the Ocean-born sorcerer Titan called Tempest. He was tall, nearly 6 feet, with piercing violet eyes and ringlet black hair. Two curved, tattoo-like scars shot from his hairline to his right eye, one slightly continuing just under. He was dripping with salt water, his curly hair shining reflections of the overhead lighting. He reached for a towel on a row of hooks by the doorway and dried his face and head, then draped it over his toned shoulder. His red and black uniform was like a wetsuit, and within seconds it was dry. Toni Monetti was daunted by Tempest, from the first moment she had laid eyes on him. He'd exuded a proud, regal manner, yet a gentle, tender demeanor. At the moment, even seeing him rising from his watery element, Toni still found herself in awe. Tempest, a naturally intuitive man, could read Toni like an open book, and though he found her admiration flattering, he also knew it was completely innocent.

Tempest put his arm over Toni's shoulder and said, "So what big emergency made Roy call in the troops?" His voice was completely fitting to the whole package: soft, comforting, secure.

"I'll let _him_ tell you," replied Toni, "I don't think I could explain it if I tried."

They reached the monitor room and found Roy and Jesse standing beside the computer console. Neither of them were in uniform; Roy, thankfully, was no longer only sporting boxers, but rather an orange muscle tank and a pair of denim jeans. A tribal tattoo wrapped around his left bicep. Jesse wore a white skirt and a sleeveless pink sweater; her blonde hair was in a French twist with a pink cotton hair-tie holding it in place. They were running through the Titans' database, updating status and gathering necessary information from Oracle. The digital icon which represented Oracle's connection, shaped like a blank mask, was on the view screen. On the far side of the room Lian sat with her legs folded on the floor beside her nanny, Rose, who, ironically, was the daughter of the very villain who was accompanying the Titans out west.

"Hey, guys," said Garth as he and Toni entered the room.

The next few minutes were spent recapping the day's events as thoroughly yet succinctly as possible for Jesse and Garth. While Roy told the tale of Kole's return and the explanation for Frances Kane's psychoses, Toni and Rose took turns grappling with Lian over a fierce game of Space Invaders on the girl's Gameboy. Oracle had concurred with the given information from the Terminator which Dick had radioed in; for the time being, although he had destroyed the Titans' T-Jet, Wilson's plans were on the up and up. The new Harrier II T-Bird had been registered for sole use by the Titans, with all pass codes secret and protected. The Disruptor had been released on parole, _again_ , but hadn't broken any laws as yet. And the enigmatic girl claiming to be a member of the Titans proved to be a work-in-progress enigma. Aside from causing general mayhem by crashing Gar and Matt Logan's membership drive bash a few months back, little was known about her before she turned up as an inmate at Arkham Asylum in Gotham City. She warranted being kept an eye on.

Jesse crossed her arms and leaned back against the console. "Let me get this straight," she mused. "The others are on a jet, provided by one of the group's greatest _threats_ , with a maniac, a convict, and that alien loose cannon Starfire?"

From the other side of the room, Rose lifted a curious brow at Jesse's comment about her father, but it was Toni who replied, "You'd better watch what you say about Bubble-Bod when Nightwing's around, Jess. And ixnay on bad-mouthing the Terminator in present company."

Jesse shook her head and rolled her eyes, dismissing Toni's observations, and said, "I don't know, guys, it sounds like a set-up to me."

Tempest said, "I trust Dick's judgment, as does Oracle, evidently. Let's give them the benefit of the doubt."

Roy stood and agreed. "It's only speculative at this point, but it sounds to me like Dick's plans for the Disruptor include Bette and the Titans L.A. branch. Looks like she's got herself a new role as his parole officer!"


	11. Convergence and Resurgence, Part One

The Titans' new T-Hawk jet landed on the roof of an 85-story edifice in the center of San Francisco, its VTOL engines slowly lowering it to an effortless landing. On the rooftop, there were three people awaiting the Titans' arrival: Karen Duncan, lead research analyst with S.T.A.R. Labs' Pacific coast team, tennis pro and part-time crime fighter Bette Kane, and the fastest living sentient, the Flash. Bette, also known as Flamebird, was sporting yet another new costume, this one sleeker and more form fitting than previous ones. It was a burgundy Kevlar one-piece with a scooped neckline adorned by criss-crossing orange leather laces. Tangerine glider wings were affixed under the sleeves. A yellow, gadget-filled belt was draped over her slender hips and a set of amber goggles rested on her head. She had begun to grow out her curly flaxen-gold hair, and the wind seemed to take pleasure in covering her face with it. With both hands she formed a protective windscreen over her eyes and watched as the new jet landed. Through a window toward the rear of the plane she could see Michael Belden, pouting and anticipatory like a child. With her right hand, Bette waved enthusiastically and was repaid with another gust of wind-whipped hair.

Soon the Titans and their uneasy allies exited the vessel and were welcomed by Karen Duncan. The Terminator was the first to speak, taking Karen's right hand in his and lifting it to his lips. "I presume you and my team have things well in order, Dr. Duncan?"

Karen looked over at Nightwing with a touch of surprise. "Everything is just fine on our end, _Mr. Wilson_ ," she replied as she yanked her hand from his and continued, "but do understand, if you ever touch me again without my permission, I'll flatten you on your ass." The Titans each collectively smiled and chuckled, knowing full well that, in her Bumblebee uniform, she certainly had the punch to back up her threat. The Harlequin's near-shrill laughter overpowered the rest. But Nightwing knew being surrounded by the Titans supported Karen's current bravado. He met her eye and winked.

Nightwing then walked over to the Flash and quietly asked, "How is Frances?"

The Flash, unmasked, replied, "She's scared, but she's looking forward to some peace of mind."

"Does she know all the risks?" reminded Nightwing.

"She knows. I think some little part of her feels like she's got nothing else to lose," responded the Flash. As they followed the rest of the Titans on their ascent into the building, Beast Boy, currently assuming the form of a green kangaroo, shouted, "Hey, where's the Harlequin?"

Heads turned, as Starfire and Troia flew overhead to search the rooftops. Kangaroo-Gar hopped into an emerald hawk and joined the search. But, alas, she was gone, without a trace.

Nightwing disappointedly shook his head and muttered, "We haven't seen the last of her, I'll wager."


	12. Interlude 3- Magenta's Lament

Frances was nervous. When she was nervous, she'd smoke a cigarette and hate herself for being so weak. In an isolated hallway a few hundred feet away from the lab where she'd seen that murky gestation tank, sitting cross-legged on the cold floor, she took a deep drag off a Parliament Ultra-light and exhaled. The smoke hung heavy in the air before her, and her stomach grumbled. It was dimly lit at this end of the corridor, and although she knew she ran the risk of setting off smoke alarms, she felt perfectly sequestered off from turmoil and angst. _Who gives a rat's ass if the alarm goes off_ , she thought, _they need me_. She took another drag off the cigarette and tapped it out on the floor, snuffing the embers into a blackened circle.

"Those things'll kill you," said a familiar voice from down the hall, clearly making its way in her direction. She looked over apathetically and saw an acquaintance of hers, another of the many marionettes in the puppet-show that was knowing the Titans. He was lanky but handsome, his black hair parted neatly to one side. Frances determined this was the first time she'd ever seen him out of uniform, and she suddenly became embarrassed that it was he who'd nailed her smoking. As he got closer, she stood, and he spoke again. "Got one for me?"

"Tavis," whispered Frances, "it's so good to see you! How have you been?" The two hugged, and it was the first time all day that she felt steady.

As they withdrew, Frances pulled the cigarette pack from her hip pocket and offered one to Tavis. Clumsily, she remembered, "I think I just used my last match."

Tavis smiled crookedly and replied, "Like that matters?" He touched his index fingertip to the end of the cigarette and a tiny discharge of lightning sparked it lit. That was his metahuman power, after all, being able to release bolts of electricity and harness lightning. He and his twin brother, Gan, were born conjoined, and during a mystical procedure were granted the innate elemental ability to control thunder and lightning, hence their creatively lacking monikers. They also shared a psychic link, enabling them to communicate telepathically with one another. Ordinarily the two were inseparable, Gan following Tavis as if they were still attached at the hip. That Tavis was here alone vexed Fran.

"Gan's fine," Tavis said quietly, as if he'd read _her_ mind. "He's in the cafeteria indulging in today's lumpy special."

Fran smiled and folded her arms. She suddenly came back to the place she'd been before this pleasant interlude with Tavis Williams. What if what they were saying were true, that Joey Wilson's essence was trapped inside hers, feeding off her mind and strength this whole time? There's no way she'd ever be able to shake the feeling of violation, not this time. But what if it _weren't_ true? Then her mental instability might very well be her own. She shivered.

Tavis exhaled a smoke ring overhead and gently patted Fran's shoulder. "Everything is going to work itself out, Frances, I promise," he said confidently. "You want me to stay with you until it's time?"

Frances Kane nodded. Tavis Williams flicked his half-finished cigarette to the ground and stamped it out. He reached an empathetic arm over Fran's shoulder and the two headed back to the med-lab.


	13. Convergence and Resurgence, Part Two

Soon, a convergence of folks, some with super-human powers, some equipped with nothing more than their own physically honed skills, and some who rely on technology to imbue them with power, was assembled in the med-lab on the 78th floor of the S.T.A.R. building. The awe in the room was overt, like that of a group of students on their first field trip to the planetarium, wide-eyed and marveling. Lab technicians in white smocks worked arduously before the casement cylinder in which a new body floated, void of mind and memory. They could just barely see it's curly blonde hair slowly flailing within the fluidic substance.

Kole stepped up to the tank and pressed her palms on the cold glass. Her face was so close that her breath fogged a circle between her hands. "That's _Joey_ in there," she whispered. Troia and Starfire approached and flanked Kole. There was joy in the girls' eyes, and a welling of tears in the alien princess'.

Wilson, arms bound behind him by crystal handcuffs, advanced toward the tank. He shouldered Troia and inquired, "So, where's the witch?"

" _Raven_ will be here when she's good and ready," barged the Flash who had instantly moved from the rear of the lab to within personal-space invading distance to Deathstroke. But despite his chivalrous show, Wally was starting to wonder the same thing. He knew this whole event was tearing Frances up from the inside, and he knew the sooner it happened, the better.

On cue, the glow, which heralded the arrival of that which was Raven, began to engulf the lab. Lab techs hid their eyes. Titans squinted. Deathstroke's brow furrowed. And then she was there, golden, glorious.

"Bring me Frances Kane," spoke Raven plainly.


	14. Full Circle

The next few moments became surreal to all the folks standing patiently, hopefully, in the cold, dully lit laboratory. Doctors Charles and Duncan diligently monitored knobs and graphs and scales as a now-human Raven, frocked in a lovely hooded white silken sari, joined both her hands with Frances Kane's. The women stood face to face, but each had their eyes closed. Frances' face was blotchy, as was the visible upper portion of her chest and neck. It was evident she was trying hard to maintain poise, squelching her tremendous fear. Her eyes were clenched shut, like the eyes of someone who hates getting needle injections, while Raven's eyelids lay perfectly still. Frances' jaw made small twitching movements. Behind her, Wally West debated with _his_ inner poise to put his hands on her shoulders and offer his strength, knowing full well that physical contact like that could possibly muck things beyond repair.

Right of Wally West stood Donna Troy, slender arms crossed, and next to her was the Princess Koriand'r from a tropical planet once known as Tamaran. At Koriand'r's feet sat a green chimpanzee called Garfield Logan, his small, simian legs crossed. To Wally's left was Dick Grayson, hidden behind a black mask and wearing the persona of Nightwing; flanking Nightwing was the cybernetic fellow from Hell's Kitchen in Manhattan named Victor Stone. As Wally watched the two women before him, each someone who held a special place in his world, he got a sudden sense of déjà vu, and it broke his concentration. Silently, he veered his head first to the left, then to the right, realizing he was standing dead center amidst the first true reunion of what was long ago called the New Teen Titans. He smiled and let out a faintly audible acknowledgement.

He'd known Dick and Donna since he was thirteen years old. He could remember with utmost clarity the first day he'd laid eyes on Donna Troy, quite possibly the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. Moreover, he could hear in his mind the puberty-challenged, teenaged voice of Dick Grayson, cracking some kind of lame pun, the first time they'd met. Simpler times, indeed. Countless adventures with those two, as well as Roy Harper and Garth from Atlantis, seemed like forever ago. But those adventures paled when compared to what began on that May night at the end of his second college semester, the night he met an exotic woman in a black cloak who pleaded for his help. She had been irresistible. Her eyes were feverish, alive with fervor. He knew at that moment he'd follow her wherever she'd ask. She was called Raven, and later that night, because Raven beseeched him, he was with his fellow Titans, whom he hadn't seen in almost a year, rescuing a golden skinned alien from the clutches of massive, lizard-like creatures over the Manhattan skyline. His life was irrevocably changed that night. And here he stood, some years later, with those very same six people. Saving the life of his childhood sweetheart, the other most beautiful girl he'd ever seen.

Across the room, Deathstroke the Terminator focused intently on the cloned shape currently floating, lifeless, in the gestation tank. The techs on his payroll seemed to have a handle on the situation, readying the fluidic temperature inside the chamber to match the body's normal temperature. All vital signs seemed strong, functional. Deathstroke smiled haughtily behind his full-face mask. Very soon his son would be alive, _again_ , thus redeeming himself to his vengeful ex-wife, the late Adelaide Wilson. He could stop carrying around that irritating sense of failure to which he was ill equipped to feeling. And this time, make no mistake, his son would follow _his_ lead, not that of his adversary, Nightwing. Joey would be a brand new man, alive with that bright soul and those glowing green eyes, able once more to speak and sing and shout to his heart's content. Singing in praise of his father, the one man brave and responsible enough to rescue him and give him life anew.

Static electric began coursing through the room. The lights dimmed and the humming of the computers elevated slightly. Troia's necklace lifted away from her chest, drawn forward to Frances Kane. Vic Stone felt his metal parts begin to get heavy, somewhat uncontrollable. Deathstroke firmed his hold on his staff as it tugged to be free from his grip. Frances' hair fanned out as if an invisible balloon was being taunted above her. Raven's hair followed suit.

" _Wally._.." whispered Fran, her voice reaching out for support, the tone small and frightened.

"I'm right here," confided Wally.

And before anyone could blink, the room exploded in a mortar of white light and an eardrum-shattering bang. People were flung against consoles as the room shook, heroes and civilians losing balance and equilibrium. As their eyes began to readjust from the burst, they could see Frances and Raven floating in midair, hands still clasped, spinning as if inside the tip of a vortex.

Troia rose to her feet and shielded her eyes. Nightwing followed. But it was the Flash's voice that was the first to be heard: "Raven!" he cried angrily, as his body innately began vibrating so fast he was nearly everywhere at once.

"Stand DOWN, Flash!" yelled Nightwing, and Starfire reached from behind him to steady his moving body. Her firm clench on his shoulders spoke volumes.

Within a matter of seconds, the levitating women, spinning counter-clockwise in midair, began to slow and eventually come to a stop. Though neither of them seemed conscious, Raven spoke and the words rang loudly. "You are freed, Joseph." The moment the sentence was uttered, Frances Kane fell limply to the cold laboratory floor.

The Flash was instantly at her side, his facemask behind him like a hood. "Fran?" he muttered. She lifted her drained face, looked at Wally, and turned her gaze upon Kole Weathers, who was studiously helping a fallen lab tech to her feet. Wally noticed that something about Frances' eyes had changed; they seemed enormously dilated. And before he could realize what was going on, Frances whispered, "Contact." Her head hit the ground like a rock, and Wally no longer had control of his body. He stood, turned, and sped directly over to Kole, blindsiding her with an elbow to the jaw, knocking the crystal spinner unconscious.

"What's happening?" Shouted one of the techs in the background as the Titans, a well-oiled machine, rallied to fight stance. They each knew _exactly_ what was happening. Joey Wilson was freed from Frances Kane's psyche, all right. And now he was 'inside' the Flash, obviously presenting a danger to the lives of everyone in the room. Joey's unique ability to enter a person's body and control their motor functions was a formidable power for an ally to have, but when that power was corrupted, people would certainly get hurt.

"Kory?" commanded Nightwing to Starfire, who, with glowing fists, was hovering around the room trying to lock aim on the Flash so she could stun him, but all anyone was able to see was a blur of red whipping to and fro. Meanwhile, that which was Raven had become non-corporeal once again and let free her disembodied soul-self, angling it in chase behind the crimson blur.

"Impossible to hit him unless he stands still," roared Starfire, frustrated and discouraged.

As if on cue, the Flash came to a halt, his face inches from the face of Deathstroke, the Terminator. With impossible speed, he removed Deathstroke's full-face mask. " _Contact_ ," he bellowed happily, as his right eye met Deathstroke's left. Starfire's starbolt knocked the Flash off his fleet feet all too late, for unfortunately Joey Wilson was no longer controlling the Flash's body.

Deathstroke, surprisingly alarmed, hollered, "GET HIM OUT OF ME!" as his possessed arms aimed his staff and fired shots off at various random targets around the room, including the cylindrical holding tank in which floated the cloned body of his son. Troia deflected as many as she could with her Amazonian bracelets until a direct hit to her stomach took her down for the count. Beast Boy morphed from chimp to elephant and charged full on at the Terminator, as the Cyborg's right hand morphed into a white sound blaster.

"Protect the containment tank!" screamed Deathstroke, as he effortlessly dodged the green mammoth and catapulted himself in the direction of Cyborg, connecting the butt of his fist to Cyborg's exposed jaw. Each Titan still standing either deflected shots fired by the overcome mercenary or made his way toward the villain in hopes of incapacitating him. Sarah Charles and Flamebird ushered the civilians through an exit door at the far corner of the room, and Karen Duncan carried Frances Kane right behind. Once everyone was out, Flamebird slammed the door shut behind her and ran down the hall, her goal to find a specific fledgling hero for some highly needed backup.

Back inside, amidst a raging onslaught of firearms, the disembodied form of that which was Raven hovered beside Nightwing. "Richard," muttered the apparition, "you must wake Donna, for only she can help Joseph now." As her words were spoken, Raven's airborne soul self concurrently wrapped its blinding light around Slade Wilson's manipulated form, calming the presence controlling his motor functions.

Nonetheless, at that exact moment, Nightwing removed his left glove and reached out to touch Raven, giving her physical form; her ghostly face, slowly gaining flush, looked at him quizzically. "Not a great idea, Raven, "said Nightwing, "it's your soul-self that initially got Joey into this mess, let's not make it worse."

With that, as quickly as Raven's soul-self had begun its calming ritual on the Terminator, the glowing, wraith-like form released the mercenary and floated directly toward Troia. "Donna still holds the key, Richard," concluded Raven sullenly as she removed 2 orb-like rings from her fingers and closed Nightwing's fingers around them. "My soul self will awaken her, but she will need _these_."

As this exchange took place, the mammoth-sized Beast Boy shifted in mid leap from elephant to python, instantly wrapping his scaly body around the Terminator, generously squeezing. "Don't try the eye contact stuff, Termy," chimed python-Gar, "we've all got _that_ number down by now." The possessed Deathstroke struggled with every fiber of his meta-human strength to release himself from Beast Boy's constriction.

Nightwing, along with Raven's disembodied soul, raced toward Troia, the two acting as one. Raven's rings, once said to contain the spirit of the Azarathian spiritual leader Azar, slid easily onto Troia's index fingers. Her eyes opened as the glowing aura of Raven's soul lifted itself from Troia's body.

"You okay?" inquired Nightwing with obvious concern.

"Never better," responded Troia, "the power in Raven's rings is almost overwhelming, though." She stood, supported by Nightwing's strong right forearm, and approached the Raven entity. The two met eyes and Troia whispered, "It's time."

While Troia had regained her consciousness and Starfire had attempted to revive the Flash, Deathstroke never retired his attempt to break free of python-Gar's hold, even while Cyborg maintained aim of his laser finger at the Terminator's left temple.

"Prove you're man enough to use that, Stone," mocked the Terminator, who added, "or in your case, _half-man_ enough!"

Cyborg was unaffected by the mercenary's taunting wisecrack. He held perfectly still, coloring the white sideburn on the left of Deathstroke's face with a tiny dot of red. He held his human eye shut. "Consider yourself lucky that Joey's inside your body, Wilson, or I might be inclined to slip up and shoot."

Suddenly the Terminator stopped struggling. His body stiffened with a quick jolt, then went limp, legs buckling, sending himself and Beast Boy unexpectedly to the floor.

"Yikes!" yelped Beast Boy as he transformed into a Saint Bernard, "did I kill him?"

"I disrupted his mental synapses and put that jackass to sleep," said the Disrupter, sided by Flamebird as they stood near the lab entry, "I've wanted to do that _all day_!"

Nevertheless, the unconscious mercenary gained his balance and stood, laughing. But before he could reach for any weapons in his belt, Troia was hovering beside him, her hands aglow from the rings she'd borrowed from Raven.

"Joey," she said, reaching to caress the Terminator's face. She knew that she was now addressing the mercenary's son, Joseph Wilson. "Let Raven's rings calm you," said Troia, "and let me help you see the truth."

"The truth..." scoffed Joey in his father's voice. His ability to possess people extended to being able to speak and communicate through their bodies if they were in a sleeping state or otherwise unconscious. He had done it many times before, but each time it was still strange for his teammates to see. He continued sarcastically, "Yes, Donna, help me to see your truth."

Troia caressed 'Joey's' face. "Don't fight, Joey," she whispered.

A soft, melodic voice called from the far side of the room. "Joey?" asked Kole, "Joey, is that really you?" The crystal girl, rubbing her temples as she gained her footing, approached him. "You attacked me first because I pose the greatest threat to you, don't I?" asked Kole. She put her hand on 'his' chest. "But I've seen inside your heart and I know you can fight these demons."

'Joey's' face softened. "Kole?" he marveled as if suddenly awakening from a bad dream.

Kole's palm remained on 'Joey's' chest, and Troia hands, adorned by Raven's rings, warmed his hands.

"I don't want to see the darkness anymore," cried Joey as a tear fell from the Terminator's eye. "It's all around me. It's inside that clone you want to trap me in"

"We shall help you absolve the darkness, Joseph," said the Raven entity. She was aglow, and her soul had lifted the cloned body out of the cracked holding tank. "Do not be afraid."

Each Titan had gathered around the compelled body of the Terminator. Starfire stood behind him and placed her hand on his shoulder. The Flash, Nightwing and Cyborg stood close by, and Beast Boy, clumsily sniffing the Terminator's boots in the form of a green bloodhound, barked throatily. The empathic Raven entity was drawing in the compassion and love that surrounded Joseph Wilson, and her glow brightened the room like sunlight.

Kole paraphrased Raven: "Don't be afraid, Joey, I'm here." He lowered his face, breathed in deeply, and shrugged slightly.

Raven's avatar reached out to the man inside his father's body and a tangible, clear beauty coursed through his skin. Joey lifted 'his' face and met eyes with Raven, slipping decisively into her soul, searching for the physical body his father had created for him. The Terminator's shoulders slumped and head went limp; Starfire reached beneath his armpits to steady him.

Deathstroke shook his head. "Where is he?" he asked, "Where's my son?"

"Silence, Slade Wilson," demanded the Raven entity, and he complied.

Thoughts failed Joseph Wilson as his essence floated inside the cleansed soul of Raven. There was endless serenity, a divinity that calmed him. Colors were solid, all sound was like music. All the wonderful meanderings of a child on the most beautiful of summer's days were what Joseph was filled with as his being sought physical form. And there was love, almost solid to the touch; it was savory and abundant, filling his ears and eyes. This sensory madness was strange but welcome, as he had only known pain, anguish, and confusion since the souls of Azarath had overtaken him, leaving him trapped in the scared and self- abhorrent soul of Frances Kane.

Joseph felt Raven's empathic guidance as his essence made contact with the physical form, a body as alien as it was recognizable. The experience of entering this body was not like Joseph had been used to; what he was entering was empty, almost unwelcoming. His essence cried out to Raven's, and again he felt her gentle, empathic nudge. She was guiding him to this destination, and he knew innately he must trust her. He stopped fighting the body and let his essence feel the familiarity. Soon, physical sensations began to emerge. His fingers fidgeted. So did his toes. His neck stretched to and fro. His mouth opened wide, and then closed, lips pursing. His eyes blinked, his nose twitched. A sensation of wetness stroked his cheeks; his skin was feeling tears. But none of it was real until—

'Uch! Aghhh!" coughed Joey as he lay naked, fetal like a newborn, on the cold lab floor. His body was trembling and still dripping from the gestation fluids. His throat was sore, but something felt different. He hadn't been able to cough so loudly after his throat was cut all those years ago, but this coughing bout echoed in his ears.

The commotion around him was confusing, but he had somehow known he was safe. Someone gently covered his shivering body with a warm, cloak-like fabric. Someone else caressed his hair. Yet another carefully whispered his name: _Joey? Joey, can you hear us?_ There was also shouting, someone who's voice was thundering and paternal, yelling for help, telling people to get in here and help my son. Joey realized he had just been reborn; he'd experienced, as a young adult, what it must feel like to emerge as an infant from one's mother's womb. He was hearing and feeling and seeing things for the first time all over again. The more his mind steadied, the easier it became to focus.

"Joey?" repeated Kole as she knelt beside her friend. Joey could smell her breath; it reminded him of bubblegum. His eyes, adjusting to the light, widened as he tried to focus on her face. As she came into focus, he smiled and whispered, "Kole?"

Cheers erupted from all around him. Familiar voices laughed at the sound of Joey's voice. None of them had ever had the privilege of hearing his voice. It was a wonderful sound.

"Richard," said the Raven entity to Nightwing, hovering slightly near the masked hero's side. "We must speak," she guided. Nightwing sensed her demeanor and slowly moved away from his gathered comrades; the enauraed entity followed.

As Nightwing and the Raven entity communicated, Joey Wilson was slowly helped to his feet, standing in his own body for the first time in nearly 3 years. Some of the Terminator's lab techs, who had since re-entered the lab, provided Joey with a heavy cotton robe, and each of the Titans, as well as his father, flanked him. Beast Boy had morphed into the form of a green sparrow, chirping happily as his tiny wings steered him playfully around the room. Flamebird, overjoyed at the sight she had just witnessed, grabbed the Disruptor's left hand and said, "You did a good thing back there, Mikey!' as she leaned in and kissed his cheek. Starfire and Kole both stood close to Joey as he was gently led to a console chair; the Terminator's strong hand sat confidently on his son's shoulder.

Cyborg worked with the techs as they checked Joey's vital signs, monitoring his breathing. The Flash zoomed over and said, "I'm gonna go check up on Fran." Cyborg nodded as the speedster disappeared. And Troia watched Nightwing and Raven, berating herself not to steal a listen, knowing their conversation was about nothing good.

And then the room exploded again, the way it had when Raven and Frances had touched minutes before. Metallic objects seemed alive. Troia's necklace yanked itself off her neck and flew against Joseph Wilson's chest. Cyborg was thrown against a far wall. The Terminator's belt seemed to melt off his torso, pulling him against his son. Panicked and startled, Joey guarded his face with his arms, and Starfire poised herself, hands afire, to stop any other metal objects from hitting him.

Without wavering, the would-be hero called the Disruptor waved a pulse at Joey, dampening the magnetic thrall. The onslaught subsided.

"He must've taken that blond girl's powers," said the Disruptor, hoping for some affirmation from one of the Titans who _wasn't_ so eager to kiss his cheek.

"Didn't see that one coming," said Cyborg.

"What the hell just happened?" demanded Deathstroke as Sarah Charles and two of Slade's techs examined Joseph. Joey, yellow-blonde hair in matted wet twists, had the posture of a child in the school nurse's office. His shoulders were slumped. His mind was cloudy. The people around him, poking at him, tilting his head back, shining things in his eyes and ears and mouth, were making more and more noise. And he was afraid. But he still felt the calming presence of the Raven entity's soul and the comforting blue eyes and warm hands of the cherry-haired girl who seemed to hold his heart in her grasp.

Troia's attention was divided. Even after the electro-magnetic outburst that Joey just displayed, Nightwing was still off in a corner with that which was Raven. And, despite her efforts to not eavesdrop, she had heard words like _cell degradation_ and _only a matter of time_. Did they finally get Joey back only to lose him again because the body Deathstroke created was unstable?

Sarah Charles' disquiet was written all over her face. She had worked on and studied many a meta-human patient and had read dozens more case files on others, but Joseph Wilson's situation was completely new to her, and she wasn't about to lose him. "I want him moved to a bed, stat!" She called firmly. Her personnel had already joined the fray and a gurney was wheeled in before she could turn her head. Deathstroke's techs and Dr. Charles' lab assistants deftly maneuvered the weakened young man to the gurney; Kole Weathers never left his side. Soon, Joey Wilson was wheeled out of the lab, leaving behind a room full of dumbfounded, costumed individuals.

"I demand answers from that witch, Grayson!" shouted the Terminator, index finger angrily directed at Raven; his ire broke the momentary silence. "What the hell is wrong with my son?"

The Raven entity's glow lessened. Nightwing approached the Terminator, his demeanor on the defense. The rest of the Titans wanted to know what Raven knew as well, and though none of them particularly cared for the way Slade Wilson approached the issue, they were glad it was he who opened the worm can.

"The body is in a slow period of decay, Slade," said Nightwing. He lowered his head and rubbed at his temples. "Joey knew what he was doing while in command of your body. He made some clear attempts to damage the containment unit, and that little bit of time made all the difference."  
Deathstroke scowled. "You mean to tell me there is cell degradation to the cloned body because the damned tank was ruptured? It couldn't have become so corrupt so quickly!"

The floating, glowing wraith called Raven answered the Terminator with an eerie nonchalance. "And yet it _has_ become corrupt, Slade Wilson. Perhaps the cells you've had in isolation all these years were imperfect to begin with, and maybe you are at fault for Joseph's decaying body." There was spite in her voice. It creeped Cyborg and sparrow-Gar out.

Troia stepped forward. "Okay, everyone, we can hurl accusations and insults at each other later. Right now, we need facts, and we need them fast."

"Joseph's newly regenerated body is essentially in a flux of advanced aging," continued the Raven entity. "It is at a current estimated age of nineteen, but the body will rapidly age within a mere matter of months, maybe a year at best."

Flamebird gasped. The Disruptor bowed his head. The fluttering green bird transformed into a solemn green-skinned boy.

Troia grabbed Starfire's hand. "There has to be some way to prevent that, Raven, doesn't there?" She asked, half-knowing the answer. " _Surely_ your soul-self—"

Cyborg quickly interjected: "Sarah will be able to stop his decay. She's a damned genetic genius!"

The Terminator stormed toward the exit and Nightwing followed right after, beseeching, "Where are you going, Slade?"

Deathstroke stopped and spun in almost a single movement; his face leered just above Nightwing's. "I'm going to retrieve my son."

"You're not taking Joey _anywhere_ , you thug," demanded Sarah Charles from the doorway. The sleeves of her lab coat were rolled up haphazardly; her brown skin glistened with diligent perspiration. "If I have to pots meta-humans at every exit in this place, Joey Wilson isn't leaving the building."

The Terminator snarled. He looked around the room. Uneasy alliances aside, he currently would've liked nothing better than to bash some goody-two-shoes' heads in and bolt out with his son. However, he knew S.T.A.R. was the best place for Joey to be. He recoiled, stood erect and returned his mask over his face. "Fine," he said angrily, "You will cure my son, Dr. Charles. You will stop this bloody cell degeneration and you will return my son to me, alive and well." He knelt, retrieved his baton, and continued, "Because if you don't, so help me, I will kill you all. I have the skill. I have the means. I will not relent."

He stormed past Sarah and headed for the stairwell to the roof. Starfire followed him into the hallway and watched as he disappeared through the exit. "I think he's leaving," she stated innocently.

Troia looked over at Nightwing. "Let him go," she said with Nightwing's non-verbal assurance, "He knows we're going to do everything in our collective power to help Joey."


	15. An Uneasy Epilogue

A week passed in which each of the Titans had returned to their own normal routine. Kole had begun a new friendship with both Frances Kane and Michael Belden, opting not to return to Titans' Tower with the others, but instead to stay in San Francisco, close to her friend Joseph Wilson. Although the Raven entity hadn't shown up in days, Kole knew she was there, someplace, sort of watching from the shadows. And both Nightwing and Troia kept daily contact to see if she needed anything, or if there was anything they could do to help. Kole would assure them that Sarah and her team were doing everything to make Joey comfortable, and that he seemed to be coming a long way with his rehabilitation. He hadn't used his powers yet since the day he became reborn, but Kole was confident that Joey was fine. Princess Koriand'r had remained in the area, too; her vacation had been cut short, but she told Kole she felt like this was where she belonged, keeping an eye over Joey. Kole knew Kory was keeping watch for the possible return of Deathstroke, and didn't want her friend left vulnerable to abduction. In a way, although it felt very safe having Starfire on guard, Kole felt very safe at S.T.A.R. Some type of meta-human was almost always nearby. They weren't the actual Titans she'd loved and worked with, but they were strong willed and powerful in their own right. And Beast Boy, who was now calling the west coast his home, was also on daily check-in status. So Kole was confident things weren't going to run amok, at least not until Joey was back up to being himself.

"Hey, you," chirped Kole as she peeked in on her friend. The adjustable bed was positioned allowing Joey's back to be somewhat upright, and he was half-watching some sort of mindless afternoon court television. There was a riser table in front of him, on which sat a tray with a half-eaten grilled cheese sandwich and a Styrofoam cup with a white bendy straw sticking out of it. His eyes widened when he heard her voice.

"Kole," he said as she came in. There was a medic in the room, one of many who'd been strictly posted to stand guard over the patient by Sarah, also sitting and watching the tube. He, too, acknowledged Kole with a small nod.

Kole sat as Joey's side and held his hand and the two of them talked for a long while. Neither of them knew that the medic in the room was not just a S.T.A.R. employee, but was also on the illustrious payroll of Slade Wilson. And neither of them knew that, only a few miles away, in a cold and empty studio apartment on the top floor of a San Francisco building, Deathstroke the Terminator was hearing every word of their conversation, biding his moment to strike and collect his son.


End file.
